


Debilitating Nightmares and Forbidden Dreams

by Maria_Albert



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: 18 Year Old Edward Elric, Comfort/Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings Realization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-20 17:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11925474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maria_Albert/pseuds/Maria_Albert
Summary: In the wake of a horrific apartment fire, a shockingly erotic dream of Edward Elric turns into a terrifyingly realistic nightmare, leaving Roy Mustang too traumatized to sleep and afraid of his own power. When Ed finally returns from his latest mission and pays the General a surprise visit in the middle of the night during an ice storm, will passion or tempers flare, as the two men battle old ghosts?





	1. Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> These characters are under copyright by Hiromu Arakawa, Makoto Inoue, Enix, Square Enix, Madman Entertainment, Viz Media, Chuang Yi, Monthly Shonen Gangan and/or others. This is a work of fanfiction, for no monetary gain. 
> 
> A/N:  
> A POV change or time change within a chapter will be marked with “0 0 0”. Comments and Kudos are appreciated. You might also like my Boku no Hero Academia, Voltron, D Gray-Man/Karneval, and Zettai Karen Children/Psychic Squad The Unlimited: Kyousuke Hyoubu stories on this site, or my published original four book high fantasy series, Descent of Kings, which includes multi-ethnic bisexual and gay characters, and is available on Amazon and through the publisher, Dreamspinner. 
> 
> Please skip the rest of this Author’s Note if you haven’t seen or finished Brotherhood – spoilers below: 
> 
> This story takes place when Ed is 18, after he’s gotten Al’s body back, but in this version of reality, Ed still has his automail and alchemy, and is still in the military, under General Roy Mustang. Ed immediately realized his mistake in promising himself to Winry, hopped off the train and ran back to clear the air. Alphonse is the one who is with Winry, though for now he is studying in the University in the Capital and living with Ed, instead of in Rush Valley.

“Damn, I wish it would snow,” General Roy Mustang swore, his lips quirking in wry amusement a moment later. “Tch. Never thought I’d hear myself say that.” His men would have been just as shocked, were any awake and near enough to hear. Everyone knew Roy hated the snow, nearly as much as he hated the cold in general, but they also knew that by far, he despised the rain exponentially more. The near freezing, torrential downpour he was currently slogging through on his way home was far worse than any snowstorm, save, perhaps, for a full-scale blizzard.

Roy futilely attempted to burrow deeper into his coat, pulling the collar up around his ears in a doomed effort to keep out the waterfall of rain pouring down his back, which had been drenching his uniform jacket and shirt, and seat and back legs and bottom of his pants for a while now. It felt like half the sky had already found its way under his coat. Had he been wearing his special ignition cloth alchemical gloves, they would have been as sodden and useless as he was.

He frowned and quickly buried the crippling memory of the nightmare now indelibly associated with those gloves, forcing his thoughts back to the rain. Even if he’d had an umbrella in the office, carrying one would have been pointless, due to the driving wind, and his was currently warm and dry in his coat closet at home. And of course, he would have made far less of a dramatic exit had he asked to borrow Hawkeye’s as he left. Not that he’d even been thinking of the weather when he stormed out of his office.

Now that the sharp edge of his temper had dulled, he scanned the deserted sidewalk and street and closed shop fronts and restaurants, vainly searching for some respite from the endless deluge, but even the bars were closed. It wasn’t late enough at night for them to be, but the owners knew only a fool would be out in weather like this. His lips twisted in a rueful, self-deprecating smile.

The only silver lining to his current misery was that the cold and wet and the walk itself had rapidly cooled his blazing temper, as he had hoped it might. Now, instead of misplaced anger, all he was feeling was exhaustion, deep lingering regret, and shame, with an undeserved dose of self-pity on the side. He should have been home already, warm and dry, with a book in one hand and a drink in the other, in front of a crackling fire in his hearth.

 _No! Not a fire._ Just the thought of one had his heart hammering so hard, he thought he’d have a heart attack and die.

The pathetic truth was, if he hadn’t refused the ride home, he would have been there long before now, on the sofa, huddled and freezing under some towels this time, maybe, since his coat was soaking wet. But he’d ordered Hawkeye not to drive him home and just as adamantly refused to allow her to call Havoc or any of the others back to duty to do so.

Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye was more than a loyal subordinate, she was more like an older sister, at times even a mother to him, his best friend since Maes had been killed, but tonight, in spite of years of friendship and loyalty and self-sacrifice on her part for him, he’d pulled the rank card and forced her to stay behind. He knew that her near paranoid need to protect him drove her just as hard as Ed’s desperate need to restore his brother’s body had once driven him, but because of his damned temper, he’d let his pride stand in the way of his friend’s peace of mind and his own common sense.  He winced at the memory of their fight, the look of frustration, and worse, fear, in her sherry colored eyes, as she stiffened to attention under his tirade, as she belatedly realizing she’d pushed him too far.

It was, of course, Hawkeye who’d kept him in the office until midnight, processing the paperwork that he’d failed to complete during the day. He hadn’t explained to her why he had done even less paperwork than usual, why he was unable to concentrate even marginally on the mindless drudgery of the hated task.

He hadn’t slept in three days. She’d likely suspected his insomnia was getting the better of him, that his nightmares had been particularly haunting, from the dark circles under his eyes, his complete lack of appetite, and his unusually snappish, biting temper, which had his team all but cowering at their desks in an effort to stay out of his way, the normal smokescreen of his artificially laidback attitude a sad, distant memory. Hawkeye had mistakenly thought that by keeping him late she could isolate him from the others and pressure him into talking about what was bothering him.

She’d been concerned he was having flashbacks to their time in Ishbal, triggered by their investigation earlier in the week of a suspicious apartment fire, involving the burning death of a Lieutenant’s family, his wife and three children, among three dozen other victims, including sixteen other children. They’d suspected arson, that either Lieutenant Brennan had committed the horrific act for reasons unknown, or someone targeting the military. Roy had initiated the investigation when the skeletal wreckage of the building was still smoldering, the carbonized bodies still lying where they’d fallen. He didn’t deny that the horrific all too familiar smell of cooked meat, of seared human flesh, and the sight of the tiny charcoaled bodies had hit with the force of a sledgehammer, that his stomach and mind had both rebelled. He knew scent was a particularly potent psychological trigger. He’d expected to be plagued with especially vicious nightmares that night, and a number of nights to come.

But this time, when the nightmares came, it wasn’t just the usual Ishbalan and Amestrian military and familial ghosts invading his dreams. For the first time, four nights ago, a certain blond-haired golden-eyed alchemist held the starring role in his nighttime drama, and even before his dreams had taken a horrific turn, they weren’t something he’d ever have been able to share with Hawkeye. His nightmare and the dream preceding it had respectively terrified and confused him upon waking.

Roy had watched countless friends, comrades and even family being tortured and killed over the years in his endless night terrors, both by his own hands and the hands of others. He’d seen his barely remembered parents die again and again in dozens of grizzly ways, alone and together, by car and truck, knife and ax, gun and even cannon, illness and, of course, flame. He’d helplessly watched his foster mother, Aunt Chris, and her girls, his foster sisters, play the role of Ishbalans, to be tortured, raped and killed by the Amestrian military, victims of hideous war crimes, countless atrocities committed in the name of the Fuhrer, by soldiers turned into ravenous animals by the war.

He’d relived the real horror of his best friend Maes’ death over and over, with the added torture of Gracia and Elysia shrieking their blame and even attacking him for it, or dying with the man they’d all dreaded living without. He’d watched Havoc, Breda, Fuery, Falman and even Hawkeye killed trying to protect him, or worse, reduced to burnt, screaming travesties of flesh with a single snap of his own damning fingers. But somehow, Ed had always been safe. He alone had been immune to all the ravages of his war-torn mind. Until four nights ago.

Roy shivered uncontrollably, as the memory overtook him. Unlike most of his nightmares, which began in the desert or the streets of Central, warning him that they would take a dark turn, this one had begun in the innocuous setting of his own home, his own bedroom and had seemed so real in every detail that he hadn’t realized until he’d woken up that it was a nightmare, which was part of why it had traumatized him so horribly. That, and the fact that Fullmetal was still in the field, on a mission; he needed to see Ed alive and safe before he’d dare close his eyes again. Just thinking about him dragged him back into the vivid memory of the dream.

_Roy opened his bedroom door, instantly knowing something was wrong, out of place. There had been the faintest of sounds, a quiet sigh of breath. The curtains were still drawn on the darkened room, and at first glance everything seemed in place, in order, the way he’d left it in the morning, until his eyes were inevitably drawn from the papers on his desk beneath the window to his bed._

_Not only was his bed no longer neatly made, there was someone laying in wait, under the covers. Roy’s gloved hand instinctively rose, his thumb and middle finger poised to snap a spark, as he flicked on the light switch, flooding the room with light._

_There was a soft moan of complaint and then a long, sinuous stretch that pushed the midnight blue comforter off a lithe, naked body._

_“Fullmetal?” Roy asked, gaping in disbelief. Why was Ed in his bed? Naked?_

_Ed pouted as he sat up, his automail arm shining in the bright light, his golden skin all but glowing, a soft halo of light surrounding his honeyed hair. He was breathtaking._

_“Don’t act so surprised. This isn’t the first time I’ve come home early from a mission, you know. That’s why you gave me my own key, right? But you’re not supposed to use my title when I’m here, when it’s just the two of us. It’s Ed, remember?”_

_Roy closed the bedroom door and stripped off his jacket and special gloves, stuffing the latter into his pockets, before draping his jacket across the back of his desk chair, as he hurried eagerly to the bed, sitting on it and pulling off his boots. “I’m sorry, Edward. I forgot for a moment. I mean, I didn’t forget, I just wasn’t expecting to see you yet, and…”_

_“If you really want to apologize, shut up and kiss me, you idiot,” Ed suggested, grabbing his collar and pulling him down onto the bed and to his mouth._

_Ed’s lips were as warm and soft as he remembered, but the muscles in his left arm and chest even firmer and more well-defined than they’d been a month earlier. It was a relief to see Ed apparently wasn’t wounded this time, that he’d been taking care of himself, especially now that Alphonse had his body back and wasn’t with his brother on missions to keep him out of trouble and protect him._

_“You’re wearing too much clothes,” Ed complained, as he pushed him away and began fumbling with his shirt buttons._

_Roy knew better than to try and help, though something as small as buttons were still a challenge for Ed’s automail fingers, even after all these years. Instead, he unfastened his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and kicked them to his ankles, thankful he’d already removed his boots this time before Ed had started to kiss him. He’d ended up flat on his face, the last time Ed had been waiting in his bed._

_He shed the rest of his clothes quickly and joined Ed, pressing against him and burrowing under the luxurious, soft comforter for warmth._

_“You know, Roy,” Ed said, making the “R” of his name sound almost like a contented purr, “It’s kind of funny how cold you always are, without a fire.”_

_“What, you think because I’m the Flame Alchemist I have some kind of hidden internal heat source? One of the reasons I wanted to study Flame Alchemy was to stay warm, in addition to learning something only one other man knew,” he replied._

_Before the warmth of Ed, he’d never have risked speaking about it. Thoughts of his mentor, Riza’s father, always led to his admonishments against using the dangerous power, and then inevitably to the War and his part in it. But thankfully and astonishingly, Ed somehow kept those nightmares and memories at bay. He’d have loved the man for that alone, but he had dozens of other reasons, and the list only kept growing._

_He shivered. Unfortunately, even Ed didn’t appear up to the task of keeping the cold at bay tonight. The temperature had dropped precipitously, and the heater in the car hadn’t been functioning properly, when Hawkeye drove him home._

_“That’s pretty apparent. You’re an ice cube tonight,” Ed complained as he unexpectedly hopped out of the bed._

_Roy pulled the comforter around himself, shivering now that his personal heater was gone, more concerned with warming up than seeing what Ed was doing, for a moment. When he looked up he was horrified to see Ed had retrieved and put on his gloves, that he was striding confidently for the fireplace, a smug smirk on his face._

_Roy felt the blood drain from his face.  “Ed don’t!” He tried to spring from the bed, but the comforter trapped his legs, and he fell to the floor._

_“Don’t worry. I’ve watched you do this a million times. If you can do it, how hard can it be?” Ed teased as he snapped his fingers. Then he screamed, and kept screaming, as he was engulfed by his own flames, as his inexperience drove the reaction out of control, fueling it with too much oxygen._

_Roy fought futilely against the comforter that was somehow still trapping him, watching and listening in helpless horror as Ed burned, his own screams of denial mixed with Ed’s agonized cries as his beloved face and body, his hair and skin and muscle and flesh burnt to a blackened, bloody ruin, until nothing but an anguished, accusing hollow- eyed charcoal statue remained, with melted slag where his automail arm and leg had been._

Roy had awoken screaming and sobbing hysterically, for a horrified moment still trapped in the world of the dream, thinking the quietly burning fire in the fireplace in his bedroom was Ed. He’d fallen out of bed before kicking off covers that had been ridiculously easy to escape from, and had started to stumble towards the fire, but then backed away once he realized only wood was burning, the sight and heat of the flames making his stomach rebel.

He’d run into the bathroom, turned on the light, and promptly vomited his dinner into the toilet and then cowered, shivering in his tub, dragging a towel down onto himself for warmth, as he desperately tried to drive the nightmare image away, unable to so much as reenter his own room because of the fire still evilly and innocently crackling in the hearth. There was no way he’d try to extinguish it. He couldn’t go near it.

Roy had spent the rest of the night like that, huddled wide awake, miserable and traumatized in the cold enamel tub under the single towel.

With dawn’s first light, he’d taken an icy shower, unable to bear the thought of heat, any kind of heat, even warm water. He’d cautiously made his way into the bedroom, relieved to find the fire was reduced to ash and a few faintly glowing embers. Even those tiny orange, glowing bits of burnt wood terrified him.

For the first time since those numb initial days after his return from Ishbal, he hadn’t been able to put on his gloves. He hadn’t even been able to touch them. He’d left them on his nightstand where he’d put them the night before, always near enough to protect him if he awoke to an intruder or a terrifying nightmare, not in his pockets, as in his dream, where he’d had Ed to protect him.

He’d gone to work without his gloves, keeping his hands in his pockets so Hawkeye wouldn’t see. He’d made it until lunchtime without her seeing his bare hands.

Ever controlled, emotionless Hawkeye had gaped at him when she’d seen his bare hands and he’d too casually explained that he must have forgotten his gloves at home. She’d of course offered to retrieve them for him, and the panicked, vehement, “No!” he’d shouted had Havoc and Fuery rushing in to see if they were both alright. Just the thought of her touching his gloves, of dying because of them, the way Ed had in his dream, of her burning again, the way he’d once burned her before, when she had him try to remove her father’s array from her back, had him down on his knees, vomiting on the floor of his office.

He’d had a hard time convincing them all that he wasn’t sick, or possibly even poisoned or drugged, from his irrational behavior. Riza had tried to get him to go to the hospital, or at least home, but he’d balked at both. He didn’t want doctors near him, not now, when a professional could easily see he was becoming unbalanced, and the last place he wanted to be was the house that had spawned such a horrific nightmare.

The implications of having been in bed with Edward, of them having apparently been lovers, didn’t even fully hit until later that night, when he’d sat on the sofa, bundled in his winter coat in his freezing living room, staring into the unlit fireplace. He couldn’t bear to light a fire. He couldn’t even stand the thought of a blanket, because of the one that had trapped him, in his nightmare. Or of his bedroom. His mind flooded with thoughts and images of Ed, and he desperately wished he’d come back to Central. He needed to see Ed alive and well. Roy didn’t think he’d be able to close his eyes or go near a blanket or fire again until he did.

Just the memory of that horrible night made him glad he was in the cold and dark and wet, as far from both fire and home as he could be. Roy shivered, as much from his thoughts and memories as the brutal, unrelenting weather, as a blast of wind gusted so fiercely it actually pushing him back a step with its ferocity, bringing another sheet of rain slamming into his face with it, all but drowning him in its fury. There was no way his coat would be keeping him warm tonight, assuming he even made it home, and the possibility was starting to seem unlikely.

He squinted through the driving rain, vainly trying to read the nearest street sign or find a familiar landmark, belatedly realizing he’d been pushing himself forward in a haze of the remembered nightmare. He was no longer certain he was even heading for his home anymore, that he hadn’t missed a crucial turn.

A choked sob caught in his throat when he realized where he was. His head might have been distracted, but his heart wasn’t. He was less than a block from Gracia Hughes’ home. He’d so desperately needed to talk to Maes that his heart and feet had brought him nearly to his doorstep. But Maes was dead, and even on the best of days, he found it nearly impossible to face Gracia.

Maes had died because of him. He refused to traumatize his best friend’s wife and daughter any further by pounding on their door in the middle of the night, like a half-drowned ship’s rat in search of any port in a storm. He didn’t deserve her compassion and warmth.

Resolutely, he turned back towards his own house. It was only a house, no longer a home, no longer his refuge against his past, a bastion of warmth and safety in his present. As he fought against the wind, the rain turned to icy sleet. He hoped Riza was already safely home in bed, glad she wasn’t trying to drive him in what was rapidly becoming an ice storm.


	2. Invite Me In, Bastard

Edward Elric’s train pulled into Grand Central Station seven hours after it had been due to arrive, but he wasn’t complaining. He was worn to the bone, but at least he was warm and dry again, though he knew that wouldn’t last for long. Still, considering for a while there it had looked like it wasn’t going to make it at all, that they’d be stranded between stations until the massive rainstorm lifted, he’d take what he could get. Since there was thankfully no lightning, to be drawn to his metal arm like a lightning rod, he’d volunteered his alchemical services to help clear the tracks of both the landslide and then further down the track, the knot of fallen trees blocking them, and the engineer and conductors had been more than happy to accept his assistance.

Ed reluctantly stripped off the conductor’s warm, fleece lined coat. His wet leather pants, soaked shirt and underwear were in his pack, but the man who had lent him the spare clothes he was currently wearing would need the coat back, now that they were finally in the station. It was too long for him anyway, though he’d never have admitted so out loud. He’d grown considerably, but he was still more than a few centimeters shorter than Mustang, and since he was eighteen, he doubted he’d ever grow taller, though somehow that had ceased to matter as much, the past few years.

He sighed at the familiar tug on his heart thoughts of Roy brought, eager as he was to see him again, not like a puppy away from his boy for too long, but like a wife pining for her husband, though thankfully not quite as lost in longing as his mother had been. He frowned at both the memory and brooding, tempestuous thoughts, the dark, stormy weather making him relive things better left long buried.

“Major Elric! Fullmental Alchemist, sir!” an eager voice called.

Ed smiled at the young conductor. He was cute as hell, only a year or two older, and more than a little star-struck by him. Some of the looks he’d given him when he’d been changing into the clothes the man had lent him had been an endearing combination of bashful and lustful. If Ed had been the kind of man to do random hookups, he would have eagerly accepted what was being so blatantly offered; he wasn’t nearly as oblivious about such things as Al accused him of being, but he was far too private a person to indulge in trysts with near strangers. Though he was painfully aware that the one person he truly wanted would never see him in that light.

“It’s Ed, Jerry. After you’re knee deep in mud with someone and then nearly naked in front of them, you should be on a first name basis,” Ed reminded him.

Jerry blushed, and for one of the first times ever, Ed regretted sticking to his own rules. But the young man’s jet black hair and eyes reminded him a little too strongly of Roy for him to be able to push his infuriating superior out of his head long enough to have fun, even had he known Jerry better, and he had a history of making bad decisions in and around trains that he had no desire to repeat.

“Ed. I just wanted to tell you, we managed to dry your coat nearly all the way through. Danny’s bringing it in just a moment. You should keep my coat on until he comes.”

Jerry didn’t have to tell him twice. His automail was all but seizing just thinking of how cold it would be, without the coat.

“My offer still stands. My place is only a few blocks from the station, if you wanted to stay the night. On the couch, I mean, or in my room and I’d be on the couch. Since it’s so late and all. And with the rain,” Jerry all but stuttered, managing not to blush this time.

“Thanks, Jerry, but I have someone waiting for me at home,” Ed said gently. Jerry didn’t need to know it was his brother, Al, and what had been two cats, when he left, but could now be anywhere from five to ten or more, from past experience. The longer he was away, the more cats he came home to, fostered strays his brother was finding homes for. Al never tired of hugging them, and stroking their soft fur against his hands and face, and for that reason alone, after denying his brother all sense of touch, his own body, for more than five years, he didn’t have the heart to discourage him.

“He’s a lucky man,” Jerry said softly, and then he blushed fiercely. “Or… um… woman. I mean… uh…”

“Man,” Ed said, with a gentle pat to his shoulder. “And you’ll find the right one too, just like I did,” he said sincerely, Roy’s smirking face bright in his mind’s eye. _Hopefully, though, he’ll return your affections. Or even be at least remotely aware of them,_ Ed thought with a sigh.

Danny entered the car with Ed’s coat, the friendly smile on his face darkening to a scowl, his eyes suddenly riveted to Ed’s hand on Jerry’s shoulder. Ed’s eyes widened at the revelation and he smiled. “In fact, it looks like I’m making Danny more than a little jealous right now,” Ed said softly to Jerry. It wasn’t easy for two men in this day and age to come together. He figured he’d help it along any time he could.

Disbelieving and startled, Jerry turned around quickly, in time to catch the frown on Danny’s face, before he schooled his expression and strode forward. Jerry’s look of doubt and surprise instantly transformed to a warm, welcoming smile, and Danny faltered, confused, before closing the distance.

“I was just thanking Jerry for the use of his coat, and you and the others for a great job getting us here safely,” Ed explained, as he handed Jerry his coat and accepted his own. “I’d better get going. Al’s going to be up all night once I get home as it is,” he said with a suggestive wink to both men. “Have a good night too,” he called with a wave, without turning back to them. Then he grabbed his bag and headed off the train, smiling as he heard the two men speaking, after belatedly wishing him a good night.

His fond smile at paving the way for a change in relationship between the two men turned to a frown as he disembarked from the train, wrapping his arms around himself as the much more brutal cold hit. At least the platform was covered. So far he only had the frigid air to contend with, and not the wind and rain.

He sighed. There certainly wouldn’t be any taxis this late, and Havoc and Lieutenant Hawkeye would be sound asleep by now, in their warm, dry beds. The last train had been due in at ten, but wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow. His was the five o’clock train, and he knew it was close to midnight, from the last time he’d checked his watch.

Huddling in his signature red coat, he made his way across the platform to the exit shivering from the cold. Maybe it was time to get a new coat, a warmer one, or to line this one with fleece like Jerry’s. The thought of Jerry and Danny made him smile, until he stepped out into the rain.

He shouldered his way into the driving wind, for a moment thinking he’d be better off camped out on the platform, or breaking into the darkened and locked ticketed area and waiting room. He began to seriously regret refusing Jerry’s offer. Except now Jerry would hopefully be bringing Danny home instead. It looked like he had a new title to add to his growing list. Edward Elric: Fullmental Alchemist, Hero of the People, and Matchmaker Extraordinaire. A sharp gust of wind drove the smirk from his face. More like Popsicle of the People, at this rate.

He quickened his pace, pushing back against the wind. “If I was any taller or lighter, it would probably be blowing me back.” He scowled as he realized he’d denigrated his own height a second time tonight. “At least no one is here to hear. Besides, it gives me a lower center of gravity, and the weight of my automail is helping to anchor me to the ground. Equivalent exchange for the way my ports are aching right now, right?” he argued, shivering so hard his entire body was shaking, already drenched to the bone from the deluge.

“So, I only have to cross, what, a quarter of the City, to reach our quarters? At least we don’t live in the barracks anymore. Then it would be half the City, and it would still be freezing inside. Well, to me, anyway. Al never complained, even once he got his body back. Heck, he’s just happy to feel the cold, or the heat, to feel anything at all. I hope he likes the new book I bought him,” he commented aloud, glad he’d wrapped it in waterproof oilskin at the dead center of his pack. At least it should make it home warm and dry. “I swear he’s read every book in both Central’s and the University’s libraries by now.”

The only reason Al wasn’t already living in Risembool happily married to Winry was because he wanted to get his University degree first. “But at the rate he’s going, he’ll likely graduate in two years instead of four.” Ed frowned at the thought. He desperately wanted Al to live his own life, to be happy, but every time he was apart from Al even for a brief time, his heart ached fiercely.

Sometimes he thought that Roy had started sending him on longer and longer missions just to get him acclimated to the idea, to make him less dependent on his brother’s company. He’d hate Roy for that, for robbing him of some of the time he and his brother had left together, if it hadn’t been so effective. He’d managed to go nearly an entire month without seeing Al, and with only talking to him on the phone every few days, instead of every night.

They’d always be closer than many other brothers, just a little less dependent upon one another for their happiness as time passed. “And that’s a good thing, right? Al has Winry, and I… have no idea what I’m going to do without him.”

Ed was glad he was so close to home, to Al. He could feel the weight of their separation beginning to manifest as that crushing depression that frightened him. _Tch. Hero of the People, and I just want to pull a blanket over my head, cower in the corner and cry for my brother. You didn’t do that when you really were a kid, and you got Al back, right? It’s not like he’s gone forever. You can visit him in Risembool, and call him, and he’ll visit and call you, and maybe that bastard Colonel, or General, or whatever will get his head out of his ass and realize he… doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about you, other than as a tool to exploit as he works his way to the top, until he becomes F_ _ührer. But that’s OK, right? That’s what will make Roy happy, and you want Roy to be happy, don’t you?_

“Yeah. I just w… wish he could be happy b… because he was with me,” Ed admitted aloud through chattering teeth, glad the wind whipped the words away, that there was no one to hear, on the deserted street, even if he hadn’t said Roy’s name aloud.

_Stop calling him Roy, even in your head. You’re going to slip up and say it aloud sometime. He’ll find out how you feel, and then he’ll laugh at you, or worse, give you that smug smirk and make you want to punch him in his stupid, perfect face._

_Think about alchemy instead. That always makes you happy, right?_

Ed began picturing different arrays, the concentration it took keeping thoughts of both the cold and Mustang at bay, until he finally looked up and realized he had no idea where he was. Belatedly, he realized the rainstorm had somehow changed to a full blown ice storm without him noticing, too.

He squinted through the brutally stinging icy shards, frowning. Recognition suddenly flared. _Crap! You idiot! You’ve walked almost the whole way to_ Mustang _’s house, instead of your own! Stupid subconscious. Stop trying to make me do things I want to do but can’t._

Another shudder rocked him so violently that he fought a moan that he was afraid would have sounded too much like a whimper as the ice lashed his face and the frigid wind bit into the all but frozen flesh surrounding his automail shoulder. He was far beyond uncomfortable and rapidly approaching hypothermia.

He looked longingly past the dark and cozy buildings beyond which was Mustang’s home. “That b… bastard’s p… probably warm and snug in his b… bed right n… now, sound asleep, d… dreaming up new m… missions to t…. torture me with,” he muttered.

Ed grinned evilly in sudden inspiration. “I think what he n… needs is a 1 AM w… wakeup c… call to remind him that s…. some of us w… work for a l… living.”

He strode forward with new energy and determination, careful not to slip on the icy ground. The least the bastard could do was feed him a hot dinner, let him spend the night on his couch, give him breakfast, and a ride to headquarters in the morning.

The two blocks passed with agonizing slowness as he fought to stay upright, slipping and sliding on the ice now sheathing the sidewalks and street. He finally approached Mustang’s house, which was as dark and quiet as the others on the block of posh homes, except...

He froze. Through the driving sleet, the porch light feebly illuminated a tall, dark figure, hunched over in front of Mustang’s door, fiddling with the lock. Then the man bent down and rose again, as if he’d dropped his lockpick. Or key? Could it be Mustang, drunk, or fresh from his latest conquest’s bed? No. That bastard hated the cold and wet nearly as much as he did. There was no way he’d be out on a night like this, and the storm had been raging for hours.

Which meant someone was breaking into Mustang’s house. _To rob Mustang? Or to kill him?_ The thought made Ed’s heart pound in fear and fury. As a General, Mustang had even more enemies than as a Colonel. Well, this assassin had picked the wrong target.

Ed wished for a moment for lightning, to cover the alchemical flash so he could transform his automail arm into a blade. He couldn’t risk it, dark as it was, not if he wanted to maintain the element of surprise, and the man likely had a gun. But that wouldn’t keep him from protecting Mustang.

He raced forward, needing to get to the man before he made it inside, but the ground was far too treacherous to run on now. Slipping and skating, he stumbled up the few stairs, barely able to keep his footing.

Ed skidded and fell forward, letting the momentum of his slide bring him crashing into his target, his automail right hand striking for the man’s torso, instead of his head, as he’d originally intended. But at the last moment, the man spun around and blocked him, grabbing his metal wrist and attempting to throw him.

Ed easily yanked free but to his shock saw the bare fingers of the man’s right hand snap in a signature gesture just in time to divert the devastating follow-up kick with his automail left leg that would have shattered Mustang’s ribs, even as Mustang yanked his hand down in blatant horror and disbelief, staring at his face.

 “Fullmental?” Mustang gasped in shock.

“Mustang?” Ed echoed in surprise.

“What the hell are you doing here?” both demanded simultaneously.

“I live here,” Mustang replied, but with shock and confusion in his shaky voice instead of smirking condescension, as Ed expected. “Why… what…?” he asked, sounding dazed.

“I got back from my mission tonight… well last night now, I guess. I was walking by and thought you were an assassin or something. Lose your key?” Ed asked, trying to sound flip about it. At least the adrenaline rush had temporarily taken care of his shivering and stutter.

“No. But the damned lock froze. I was just trying to pry the ice out,” Mustang explained, sounding surprisingly defensive, like he was caught doing something wrong, even though it was his own house.

“Why not just melt the ice?” Ed asked innocently. “Oh, right. Because this weather turns you into a wet match, doesn’t it? Your gloves don’t work when they’re wet. Or in your pockets. I guess they’re drenched, right? But you might as well have at least been keeping your fingers warmer.”

Instead of bristling at the “wet match” comment, Mustang looked surprisingly defeated, by the muted light of the porch bulb.

“Hey? Are you OK? You’re not sick or something, are you?” Ed asked in sudden concern. “And why are you covered in ice and so wet? Didn’t Hawkeye drive you home? Where is she, anyway? She doesn’t usually leave until you’re safely inside, right? I mean, doesn’t she usually actually search your place for assassins before she lets you enter?” Ed asked, in belated realization. Something weird was definitely going on.

“Crap. Nothing happened to the Lieutenant Colonel, did it?” Ed asked in sudden dread. _Please tell me she didn’t get killed, like Hughes. That would explain Mustang out drinking on a night like this._

“She’s fine. I just needed to stretch my legs. I only got done with the day’s paperwork just after midnight,” Mustang explained.

“So are you going to keep me freezing out here or are you going to invite me in, bastard?” Ed demanded, now that he knew Mustang wasn’t distraught. He’d find out what was really going on once he was inside.

A strange look passed over Mustang’s face, something unsettlingly like fear. “Go home Fullmetal. Go pester Al,” Mustang mumbled, as he fumbled to open the lock again.

Ed’s eyes widened. Mustang’s hand was shaking.

“Your hands must be frozen. Give me that,” Ed chastised, taking the key from him with his automail hand, forcing the key into the lock, opening the door and then striding in, wiping his feet on the mat.

“Damn it, Fullmetal, I don’t want you here!” Mustang snapped, but for some reason there was desperation in his voice, instead of anger.

“Too freaking bad. If you haven’t noticed, our little rainstorm has become an ice storm. There’s no way I’m walking home from here in this mess. So I’m going to accept your gracious invitation, and sleep on your couch,” Ed said, clicking on the foyer light and heading for what looked like it might be the living room. He’d seen the outside of Mustang’s house a number of times, but he had never been inside before. “All I need is a blanket and pillow and you won’t even know I’m here. Although a hot dinner would be nice, considering I just got back from the mission you sent me on.”

He turned on the living room light and headed for the fireplace. He’d look around later. Right now he wanted to be warm and dry. He bent down and saw a stack of neatly arranged firewood and a somewhat sparse amount of kindling in the fireplace, but he didn’t see any matches. He snorted. _Of course not._ The Flame Alchemist would just snap his fingers. “Hey Mustang. Light this for me.”

He yelped in surprise when Mustang grabbed his arm and yanked him back from the fireplace, as if it was a nest full of poisonous vipers. “No! You’re not staying, Fullmetal. Get out of here. That’s an order, damn it!”

Ed’s instinctive immediate flash of anger was just as suddenly doused. Mustang wasn’t just being a jerk. He looked terrified.

“Col… Gen… Roy. What’s wrong?” Ed asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

Roy pulled away, as if realizing he was behaving irrationally. He ran his hand through the sopping, icy tangle of his hair twice, but his wet bangs fell back on his forehead. “You just… I… you can’t be here. Please, Ed. Just… just go.” The words were desperate, hopeless sounding, pleading, not the way Roy should sound ever, and he’d actually called him by name instead of by his title.

“I’m not budging until you tell me what’s wrong. Why are you acting so weird? And why do you look so bad? You don’t sound it, but you look sick.” Just the thought of Roy being sick had his heart hammering. People died from being sick. Like his mother. He couldn’t lose anyone else he lo…

Ed froze, feeling panic and desperation in his own gaze. And then Ed sneezed, not once, but a series of them. _Terrific. Roy isn’t the only one who’s sick._

“You didn’t tell me you were sick,” Roy accused, but he sounded concerned rather than annoyed.

“Yeah, well, you try digging through a landslide and then a bunch of fallen trees, and then walk back here from the train station in this weather. Look, could you just lend me something to sleep in, and get me a pillow and blanket, so I can camp out on your sofa, and light the fire… What’s wrong? You look like you’re going to throw up or something.”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. Come with me, I’ll take you to the bathroom so you can take a hot shower, and then give you something to wear to bed. You can sleep in my room, or one of the guest rooms,” Roy said, as he started to lead Ed up the stairs.

Ed froze. _In Roy’s room? Is he inviting me to…? No way. He said that as if he wouldn’t be there. “_ Wouldn’t it get a little crowded in your room with both of us in your bed?” Ed teased, unable to resist.

To his astonishment, Roy tripped on the stairs and went down, fortunately catching himself against the railing instead of tumbling back down.

“Mustang! Are you OK? Damn it, if you can’t even climb the stairs, I’m taking you to the hospital,” Ed insisted, worried.

“No! I’m fine. I just… I meant I’d take the couch. I didn’t…. You can’t… Stay out of my room! And away from my gloves!” Roy demanded irrationally as he yanked himself to his feet and stood towering over Ed a few stairs up from him.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why would I…? Wait. Something happened, didn’t it? With your gloves. That’s why you’re not wearing them, why you don’t want to start a fire. You burned someone, by accident, didn’t you, someone you would never want to burn? Like Hawkeye.” _Crap. That’s why she didn’t drive him, why he’s so messed up. She’s in the hospital._

Roy shook his head in denial, but his eyes confirmed it. “I didn’t burn her again,” he whispered. “She wasn’t the one, this time.”

 _He burned Hawkeye before? When? How?_ “Crap. Was it Havoc? Breda? Fuery? Falman?” Ed paled as Roy shook his head at each name, a haunted look on his face. Ed’s heart froze. “Not… not Al?” he demanded, grabbing Roy by the collar of his coat.

“No. Calm down, Fullmetal. It wasn’t anyone. No one real. It was… nothing. Just another nightmare,” Roy claimed, his voice thick with self-disgust, but also doubt. He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself, than that he believed it, and he was giving him a weird look as if…

“Wait. It was me, wasn’t it?” Ed asked in sudden understanding.

The way Roy flinched was answer enough.

“You had a nightmare that you burned me. But I’m standing right here. I’m fine,” Ed claimed, but the word ended on a cough, which somehow turned into a coughing fit. He couldn’t catch his breath. If it wasn’t for Roy’s arm unexpectedly wrapping around him, he might have actually fallen down the stairs.

“Come on. We’re getting you out of those wet clothes and under some blankets. I’ll… I’ll light a fire,” Roy said, with sudden steely determination, as if he was instead talking about facing an invading army singlehandedly without his gloves.

Ed wasn’t about to argue, even if he’d had the breath to.

Roy led him up the rest of the stairs and to the first door to the right of the staircase. Ed instantly knew it wasn’t Roy’s room, but a guest room. It was immaculate, but didn’t looked lived in, either. There were no photos, knickknacks or other personal effects, the kind he remembered from his own home, when he was a kid, or from Winry’s home.

“Take off your clothes,” Roy ordered, making Ed freeze and a flush of unwelcome heat color his face.

“Wait. Never mind. Let me do it. Your automail’s probably totally seized up, right?” Roy said, reaching for his coat.

“What the hell? I can undress myself, Mustang,” Ed snapped.

“Why won’t you ever let me hel…? Never mind,” Roy said, a blush unbelievably darkening his cheeks as he dropped his hands. “I’ll… um… get you some pajamas and a robe,” he mumbled, as he quickly headed for the door, as if desperate to escape from the room. Then he hesitated. “That’s the bathroom. Use as much hot water as you like. It won’t run out, not like in the barracks, and I don’t need any,” Roy explained. Then he was gone.

Ed stared after him, perplexed and worried by Roy’s atypical behavior. What the hell had been happening while he was gone? How long had Roy been like this? If it wasn’t so damned late, he’d have called Hawkeye or Havoc.

He began coughing again, and headed for the bathroom. When the fit finally passed, his throat felt raw and sore. _Wonderful._ He started fumbling with his buttons. Damn it! Buttons were always a pain the best of days, none of his shirts had buttons because of it, but Jerry’s did. Roy was right: his automail fingers had seized up a bit, though his flesh and blood ones were more worrisome. It looked like he’d barely escaped frostbite.

He’d successfully struggled out of his borrowed shirt and had the overly long pants around his knees when the bathroom door unexpectedly opened.

Roy froze, staring at him, in all his shivering, half naked glory. “Sorry. I… uh… here,” he said awkwardly, his face flushing, and put the pajamas and robe on the bathroom counter, and then fled.

 _What the hell? Did Roy just…?_ Had the bastard General just checked him out? And actually liked what he’d seen, from the speedy exit and the blush? _Who are you, and where’s the real Roy Mustang?_ If Ed didn’t know better, he’d think Envy was back and playing tricks on him again.


	3. Havoc in the Hospital

Roy felt a wave of relief when he finally heard the shower start. At least Ed wouldn’t see him lighting the damned fire with the candle he brought up from the kitchen. Fortunately, he had a self-igniting gas stove, with an already lit pilot light. He’d discovered to his relief that seeing the tiny blue flame wasn’t at all traumatic, and the lit wick of the candle surprisingly and thankfully wasn’t beyond his tolerance level either. He felt like an idiot for not having done this the past three nights. Except using his gloves, his alchemy, to light the fire or not, a roaring fire in the fireplace would have been too overwhelming.

Getting the sparse kindling to ignite in the fireplace in Ed’s room with such a tiny flame would have been a challenge, if he didn’t have some pinecones. Fortunately he liked the way they popped and crackled, but they also lit very easily and burned fast and bright, because of the pine resin inside. Normally his power easily lit the logs, with no need for the standard amount of kindling others used.

He watched the fire grow to engulf the split logs warily, from a cautious distance. He tried to leave, once the fire was burning brightly, but the thought of leaving Ed in a room with a lit fire made his heart hammer. Which was idiocy, because in his dream, it was Ed trying to light the fire that had…

He slapped both hands over his mouth and without thinking ran into the bathroom, his only thought making it to the toilet before he vomited. The rapidly growing cloud of steam was a shock, but he was on his knees, retching into the toilet, before the reason for it processed. He looked up when he heard Ed open the frosted glass door.

“Mustang! What the hell…? Shit. Hey, are you alright?” Ed asked, stepping out of the shower onto the bathmat, water streaming down his body, and from his long hair that was now plastered to his back.

He looked… amazing. Muscled everywhere, his arm and thigh and abdomen and back. But also, scarred, everywhere, especially where his automail arm and leg joined his flesh, but other places as well, knife wounds, claw marks, even bullet wounds, a record of all the many missions he’d survived, the battles he fought and won. Because of him, the missions he’d sent Ed on. But no burns, thankfully. No shiny or horribly wrinkled patches marred his smooth skin.

Belatedly, he realized he was blatantly staring at his naked subordinate. His head jerked up and his eyes locked with Ed’s shocked and confused golden ones.

“I… sorry. I was just…” Roy turned away, flushing the toilet, and then going to the sink, and washing his hands, staring at them, instead of looking at the mirror, afraid even in the steamy glass he might see Ed’s reflection. He cupped his hands and rinsed and spit, then braced himself with his hands on the counter, not knowing how to face Ed. He flinched away when a warm hand touched his shoulder.

“I’ll let you finish and get dressed, and make you some dinner,” Roy offered desperately, escaping the bathroom.

He headed for his own room, hesitating for just a moment at the threshold, before forcing himself to turn on the light and head inside. He’d retrieved the pajamas and robe from the laundry room. His eyes scanned his bedroom, the unmade bed he’d last slept in four nights ago, his taunting, mocking gloves on the nightstand, the ash filled hearth. He rummaged through his drawer and pulled out a set of pajamas for himself and fled to the cold safety of his own bathroom.

Roy locked the door and then stripped out of his soaking clothes. He stepped into the shower, and biting his lip in determination, forced himself to turn on the hot as well as the cold. Ed was alive and well, he’d seen the proof himself. It was idiotic to allow himself to be debilitated by a single, stupid nightmare, after all the horrific dreams he’d survived since Ishbal.

Gradually he felt his tense muscles loosen under the lukewarm spray, and he adjusted the faucets, until the water was far closer to the usual steaming heat he craved. He reveled in the heat in relief, determined to light the fireplace in the living room as well. It was a miracle his pipes hadn’t frozen or that he hadn’t caught pneumonia before this.

0 0 0

Ed rinsed quickly and then toweled himself dry, dressing in the pajamas, folding up both the shirt and pants cuffs a few times to fit his shorter arms and legs. Thankfully the steam from the shower had soothed away the soreness in his throat and the need to cough, for a while at least, and cleared out his sinuses. In the past he’d hated being sick because it slowed him down, wasted valuable time that he could have spent researching ways to restore Al, but now that Al had his body back, his little brother was far more fragile, as susceptible to illness as anyone.

“Stop worrying about Al. He’s warm and dry at home, he’s fine,” he scolded himself. Ed donned the thick, soft robe Roy had left for him, grateful for the warmth, wishing for slippers or at least socks as well. Then he remembered he had a clean pair in his pack, which he could always dry using alchemy.

He headed into the bedroom, and was pleased to see the fire had been lit. He stood in front of it for a few moments, reveling in the heat, before unpacking his bag. Upon unwrapping it from the oilcloth surrounding it, he was relieved to find Al’s new book was safely dry. He laid it on the nightstand and then went to work on his clean but wet clothes, clapping his hands and drying them easily. He would have done so on the train, but he’d been too damned exhausted from using his power to clear the debris. Once the clothes were dry, he laid them on the chair, in preparation for the morning. He’d worry about washing and returning Jerry’s clothes later. He could hear the faint sounds of a second shower coming from the open door, somewhere down the hall, as he slipped on his socks.

His stomach growled and he headed for the door. _Time to find Roy’s kitchen._ Maybe he’d cook the bastard a late dinner too, as thanks for letting him stay for the night, assuming he could find some way to light the stove.

When he got to the kitchen and began to investigate it, he was relieved to discover the stove was the newer, more wasteful kind, with the gas always on and a pilot light already lit. He opened the ice box and various cupboards and Roy’s pantry, assessing his supplies. He grinned as he found some candles and elegant silver candlesticks, but then frowned, thinking of Roy using them to help seduce one of his many conquests. Scowling, he lit one from the stove and headed for the fireplace in the living room.

There wasn’t enough kindling, so it took a while to get the fire going well. It was finally just starting to burn steadily when the phone rang. Ed instinctively headed for it, frowning in concern. Roy likely wouldn’t hear it in the shower, and it must have been close to two in the morning by now, though he didn’t bother checking his watch. For someone to be calling this late, it must be important. “General Roy Mustang’s residence,” Ed answered officially.

“Who… Ed, is that you?” a familiar, startled female voice asked dubiously.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye? Why are you calling Mustang so late? What’s wrong, what’s happened?” Ed asked in concern.

“Nothing. I just wanted to speak to the General, to make sure he made it home safely,” she assured him, though she sounded a little strange, her voice oddly strained, and there was a chaotic jumble of muffled but frantic sounding voices in the background.

Ed stiffened, as he heard a distinct voice calling for Doctor Williams to report to the ER. “Lieutenant Colonel, who’s hurt? Why are you at the hospital?” Ed demanded.

“It doesn’t matter. Everything’s fine, as long as the General is safe. He is there with you, right?” she asked, suddenly sounding unsure, but he belatedly realized there was pain as well as doubt in her voice, and he paled.

“Hawkeye? Are you alright?” Ed demanded.

“I’m fine. As long as… damn it, Jean, I’m not done,” Hawkeye snapped, her voice becoming more distant as she spoke, as if the phone was getting further away from her.

“Like hell you’re not,” Havoc yelled back. “You’re going to lie down before you fall down, or I’m going to have them strap you to the damn gurney if I have to. She’s over here!” he called out.

“Look, General, Riza’s going to be fine, no thanks to you, you self-centered bastard, so just drink or fuck yourself back to sleep and let me worry about her,” Havoc snapped insubordinately into the phone, sounding atypically furious.

“Havoc, what’s wrong with Hawkeye? Is she really going to be alright? Are you OK? Was it a bomb or something? Who else was hurt?” Ed demanded anxiously, all but crushing the handset of the phone in his automail hand.

“Ed? Shit, I thought for sure she was talking to the General. Great. Now she’s going to try to call him, too, unless they sedate her, and they need her conscious to assess her injuries,” Havoc said worriedly.

“Injuries? What happened? Did someone attack the two of you?” Ed demanded, frustrated that he’d already been in the City and could have protected them, if he’d been with them.

“No, I’m fine, it was just her, and we don’t think it was deliberate. It was a car accident. She was looking for the General. The two of them got into a fight and he ordered her not to drive him home, and you know Hawkeye. She followed the General in her car at a discreet distance, to make sure he made it safely, but visibility was so bad because of the storm that she lost him, and then when she was trying to find him again, another car slammed into hers at an intersection, and the bastard driver took off without checking to make sure she was alright.

“She was conscious at least part of the time, furious that she didn’t get the guy’s license plate number, but trapped and freezing, until an off duty police officer on his way home found her pinned in the wreck, called it in and stayed with her, he even rode in the ambulance with her. A nurse called me from the hospital, when he couldn’t reach the General, since I’m listed as her second emergency contact on the card she carries in her wallet.

“Considering what they said about her car, it’s amazing she wasn’t hurt a lot worse. It doesn’t look too serious. She’s a little groggy – she’s got a mild concussion – and maybe a broken arm and a few ribs, though we haven’t been able to pin her down long enough to take an X-Ray. They just need to make sure she doesn’t have any internal injuries or anything that she’s not feeling because of shock or is trying to hide from us.

“Look, I hate to ask this – you must have just gotten back tonight, right – but could you try calling General Mustang and make sure he’s alright, and then try reaching me here? I can give you a number to call at the nurse’s station. Hawkeye’s not going to stop worrying about the General until she’s sure he made it home safely, and there’s no telling when that will be,” Havoc said, sounding completely frazzled.

“Actually, she did call him. This is his phone. I’m at his house. He’s fine. He’s in the shower,” Ed said. “I’m staying the night, so she doesn’t have to worry about him being in danger from anyone, either.”

“You’re… he’s…? Holy fuck. You mean Breda and Fuery were right? Huh. I guess we really are all pairing up, except for Falman and Armstrong, so far. Still, I never saw this one coming. I mean, Breda and Fuery were pretty obvious, and we’ve all seen the way you look at the General when his back’s turned, but I never thought he… Congratulations, Chief, or maybe condolences. I don’t want that self-absorbed, womanizing bastard to hurt you. You’re too good for him,” Havoc claimed.

Ed’s face flushed furiously. “Wait, it’s not like that! I walked home from the train station, that’s all, and was passing by his house, and it looked like someone was breaking in, only it was Mustang, and he just invited me in because of the storm,” Ed quickly justified.

“Right. Sure Chief. Because we all know that the General’s house isn’t on the opposite side of the City from yours or anything, right?” Havoc snorted. “Look, I need to make sure Riza knows the General’s OK. Goodnight, Chief.”

Ed scowled at the phone and hung it up. Then his eyes widened, as some of what Hawkeye and Havoc had been saying abruptly and belatedly sunk in. Hawkeye had called Havoc “Jean”, Havoc had called Hawkeye “Riza” more than once, and he was listed as her emergency contact, which might not be too telling, but the way he’d chewed him out, when he thought he was Mustang, and the way he’d spoken to her? _Holy cow. Havoc and Hawkeye?_ Just thinking about it made him smile. _After all the women Havoc has been chasing, and Hawkeye…_

Then his eyes widened and he grinned. _Breda and Fuery?_ He’d suspected they were a lot more close than mere comrades, and he might have pursued one or the other of them, if he hadn’t already had his heart set on Roy, and he hadn’t been sort of hoping they might get together.

Ed headed back for the kitchen, debating whether he should tell Roy about the call. The weird way he’d been acting tonight, there was no telling how he’d react to hearing Hawkeye was hurt. He’d likely blame himself for it, since she’d been watching over him, and the last thing Ed wanted was for Roy to head out into the storm to the hospital. Hawkeye certainly wouldn’t want Roy to risk his life to check on her, especially since it sounded like she’d be alright, since she was able to escape her doctors and walk to a phone, and Havoc was there with her to make sure she followed doctors’ orders. He’d keep it from Roy, for now, at least.

He debated calling Al, but waking him up from a sound sleep in the middle of the night would only panic his little brother, and he definitely didn’t want Al heading out in the storm to see him. And he wasn’t sure how he’d explain staying at Roy’s house to him, especially after Havoc’s reaction. Unlike Havoc, Al knew he’d been pining after Roy for years now, and Al didn’t exactly approve, not because Roy was a man, but because of all the women he’d supposedly shared a bed with. Though they knew now that, in spite of his earlier jealous thoughts, at least most of that was a smokescreen, his foster sisters who were informants leaking information to him on their fake dates. Still, like Havoc, Al was afraid Roy would use him and cast him aside.

Ed resolutely began preparing dinner. He was overthinking things. It’s not like Roy wanted him anyway, right? Even if he had been staring.


	4. You’d Make an Excellent Wife, Fullmetal

Roy wiped the steam off the mirror and contemplated his reflection. He felt much better, warm and relaxed, but he frowned as he saw his face in the mirror: between the five o’clock shadow and the dark circles under his eyes, he looked like a transient. No wonder Ed had been worried he was sick, and Hawkeye had been so concerned about him.

He combed through his tangle of wet hair and then reached for his razor. It was much more pleasant shaving with hot water than cold, especially with the stubble softened from the shower. He felt much more like himself, once he shaved and wiped the last of the shaving cream from his face. He slapped on his aftershave and studied himself again. He still looked tired and worn, but he was at least somewhat semi-respectable now.

Roy headed out into his bedroom and shivered, missing his robe. But Ed had needed it more than he did. He frowned, hoping Ed’s sneeze and cough didn’t balloon into something serious. He’d make him some soup, along with something more hearty. Stew would be ideal, but would take too long, and he needed to get Ed into bed.

Roy felt his face heat with a sudden flush at the thought, his eyes quickly darting to his own bed and then away. _I didn’t mean it like that, damn it!_ But the memory of Ed naked and languid in his bed, the details of his body further fleshed out now that he’d seen Ed fully nude flooded his mind’s eye. The muscles, the confidence, the flirtation. The scars. He frowned and headed downstairs.

He froze, perplexed, as a delicious aroma wafted up the staircase. He hurried down the remainder of the stairs and then froze again, his eyes wide with horror, as he saw the lit fire. _How did he…?_ Frantically, Roy tried to remember whether his gloves had still been on his nightstand.

Fearful and furious, he ran into the kitchen, to find Ed humming to himself, stirring something in his stewpot. The cutting board was on the counter, with a number of vegetable remains on it, as well as one of his knives, and there was a bowl and his canister of flour.

He must have made some sort of sound, because Ed turned with a grin, the surprisingly welcoming smile freezing on his face and his shoulders suddenly tensing. “Don’t get all bent out of shape, Mustang. I just thought we could both use some soup and biscuits. I know how to cook, you know, it’s not like I broke anything, and I’ll clean up after myself,” Ed said defensively.

Roy was taken aback, until he realized he’d been scowling. Because of the fire. Belatedly, he saw there was a partially melted taper with a blackened wick on the counter. Ed must have used the same method he had, to light the downstairs fire.

“Sorry. It’s fine. I mean, thank you Fullmetal. I was planning to make soup for you, but I hadn’t thought of making biscuits, and I realize I’m out of bread. Is soup going to be enough for you? I’d planned to make steaks, as well, and vegetables and a salad, although I know you probably won’t eat anything green without Al here to pester you into it.”

Roy knew there was a time Ed would eat anything and everything, whether he liked the taste or not, not just because of his teenage metabolism, and because he’d actually been eating for Al too, without realizing it, but also because Al liked watching him eat, and to hear him describe the different tastes and flavors that he missed so much.

Ed scowled. “I eat vegetables. And salad. And I’m starving, so you don’t even have to ask about the steak. We’ll have the soup and biscuits as an appetizer. Get to work, Mustang,” he ordered, as he opened the preheated oven and lifted the baking tray full of biscuits into it.

“Manners, Fullmetal,” Roy chastised mildly, with a shake of his head. “Honestly, for someone who’s been a dog of the military for as long as you have, you’d think you’d have learned not to growl so much or snap at your master’s hand by now,” he teased. “Keep it up and I’ll make you wear a collar.”

Ed cursed and there was a crash as the tray fell onto the open oven door and Ed’s left hand went to his mouth.

“Damn it! You burned yourself, didn’t you? Let me see,” Roy insisted, running over to him.

Roy forced Ed to show him the angry red welt on his hand, then guided him to the sink and ran cold water on it. Then he pulled out his bottom drawer and took out his first aid kit. “I’ve got some burn ointment in here.”

Ed’s eyes widened at the contents of the kit. “Why do you have an Emergency Field Medic Kit in your kitchen?”

“I have one in every bathroom, too. Because kitchens and bathrooms are the two places people usually injure themselves, at home. Besides, I’ve had intruders more than once, and after the first time, Hawkeye threatened to shoot me for being unprepared,” he answered truthfully. The kits he had were specially modified with extra burn treatment supplies, in addition to those for traumatic blood loss, thankfully. “Hold still. This ointment’s going to sting, but it will keep your skin from blistering.”

0 0 0

Ed was furious with himself for burning his hand after insisting he could cook and because of the weird way Roy had been acting, but Roy’s collar comment had him picturing some pretty explicit things, although with Roy the one in the collar. It was Al’s fault, for getting him those kinky books, once his little brother found out he liked guys. Some of them had been really useful, although so far only in the art of self pleasure, but the others were pretty intense. He probably knew more about sex than Roy now, at least about sex with other men. From what he’d seen, Roy was strictly a ladies’ man, though he likely would have kept hidden any interest in men he might have. 

He was surprised Roy wasn’t ridiculing him for the burn, but was relieved to see he wasn’t freaking out too much, either. Roy’s hands were surprisingly gentle, too, as he tended to him. _Crap._ But now that he was fastening the loose bandage over the ointment, they were trembling.

“It’s just a little burn. Considering I made it back from my mission without a scratch, it was inevitable something would happen soon. At least I didn’t drop the tray dough side down, so the biscuits aren’t ruined,” Ed commented.

“I’m impressed, Fullmetal. That’s got to be a new record for you, making it through a mission without injury,” Roy said, his voice sounding offhand, and a smirk pasted on his face, but his hands were clenched into fists now, apparently to hide the trembling. “And at least you had the sense to take off the robe. Those sleeves are a definite fire hazard. It’s bad enough you’re cooking in your socks and pajamas.” He opened up another drawer. “Oven mitts. To protect your hands.”

“I know what oven mitts are for, jackass,” Ed snapped, as he put them on. “And you’re in your pajamas, too. And those are slippers on your feet, not steel toed combat boots.”

“Point taken. I just don’t like seeing you hurt. You have enough scars, because of me,” Roy stated softly.

Ed frowned, confused, as he put the tray into the oven and closed the door. “What do you mean, because of you? You haven’t ever hurt me.”

“The missions I’ve assigned you have,” Roy argued. “As your commanding officer, your injuries are my fault.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Ed asked, perplexed by Roy’s bizarre behavior. “The scars are from me screwing up and not taking the bad guys down quickly enough. Or from protecting someone else from getting hurt. I’d much rather be the one to get injured. I’m tough. I can take it.”

“You may be tough, but you’re not indestructible, Fullmetal. You take too many risks. Pull too many stupid stunts,” Roy scolded. “And without Al there to protect you… I don’t want to attend another funeral. Ever. Especially not yours.”

Ed had been formulating an angry retort, but it died on his tongue. “You’re worried about me?” he asked, in dawning wonder, a smile replacing his frown.

0 0 0

_Shit._ He hadn’t meant to reveal that. “Of course I worry about you. I worry about all my men,” Roy stated briskly, doing the best to cover his faux pas.

The smile that had lit Ed’s face faltered and dimmed. “Oh. Right. Of course,” Ed said, sounding too casual.

Roy could hear the underlying disappointment in his voice.

“Why Fullmetal? Do you _want_ me to worry about you?” Roy baited instinctively.

Ed sighed heavily. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” he muttered so softly Roy almost didn’t hear.

Roy froze. _Did Ed just…?_ He studied Ed’s face intently. Ed was just as focused on stirring the soup.

“What _do_ you want, Fullmetal?” Roy risked asking, knowing no matter what Ed said, he wouldn’t like the answer.

“You,” Ed replied the single word hanging between them. “To take me seriously. To treat me like an adult,” Ed continued rapidly, but not quickly enough.

Roy had heard the hesitation after the word “You”, the truth of the one word answer.

“How do you want me?” Roy asked, the straightforward, honest question somehow voiced in a seductive tone, becoming an offer he never consciously intended, his brilliant ever strategizing brain somehow failing to engage, or maybe just commandeering his tongue completely.

Ed cursed and jumped back as the spoon he’d been lifting to his lips fell into the soup, splashing hot liquid across the stove. “What the hell kind of question is that?” Ed demanded.

“Never mind. I’m too tired to talk straight tonight. Just ignore me. Let’s just eat the soup and biscuits and then go to bed, alright? I’ll make you a big breakfast tomorrow, to make up for not making a bigger dinner, but I honestly just don’t have it in me to cook tonight. I’d probably only manage to hurt myself,” Roy admitted.

Ed’s defensive, suspicious expression changed to one of concern. “How come you’re so tired?”

“Work. It’s been really busy while you’ve been gone,” Roy evaded. He wasn’t about to tell Ed the truth.

Ed frowned. “Has there been a new insurgency or something? Threats against the Führer? Unrest in Drachma or one of the other bordering nations?”

“No. Nothing like that.” He wasn’t going to mention the potential arson case, fighting the heave of his stomach, glad vegetable soup was on the menu and not steak. The thought of cooked meat made his stomach churn. ”You should check the biscuits, Fullmetal. You don’t want them to burn and have all your hard work go up in smoke,” Roy suggested, though he knew they hadn’t been in long enough to be done, because if he smelled smoke tonight, or saw even biscuits burnt...

“You’re standing right next to the oven. Check them yourself,” Ed huffed, annoyed.

“I need to set the table,” Roy evaded, opening the cupboard and getting out a pair of bowls. He could feel Ed’s eyes on him, but thankfully he heard the oven door open. Hot water was one thing, but a hot oven was something else, especially after Ed had already burned… He spun around immediately, heart trip hammering in panic, but was relieved to see Ed was wearing the oven mitts, that he was fine. _Of course he’s fine, you idiot. It’s just an oven._

“They still need a couple of minutes,” Ed commented.

Roy nodded and pulled out a pair of small plates, and two soupspoons and butter knives, and then headed for the kitchen table. They’d eat in the dining room some other night, a full dinner, with candlelight and music and…

_Where the hell did that come from?_ Why was he suddenly picturing a romantic dinner, with Ed, of all people?   _That damned dream. Ed is **not** my lover, he’s never going to **be** my lover. I don’t want…_ But for some reason he couldn’t finish the thought.

He headed back to the cupboard and got out a pair of glasses and a pitcher, and filled them with water, and put them on the table. There was no way he was drinking tonight, even wine. He added napkins, the salt and pepper, a trivet, and butter dish. And somehow it still looked like there should be flowers, or candles, or at least a tablecloth, even if it was only Ed. Especially because it was Ed. _Damn it._

He closed his eyes and dropped his head.

“Wake up. Dinner’s ready,” Ed chided, as he walked past him with the soup, and set it on the trivet. “Grab the biscuits, while I dish up the soup,” he ordered.

Roy went back into the kitchen and was relieved to see the biscuits had already been dished up on a plate, and pleased to see they looked as good as they smelled, golden brown and perfect.

“You’d make an excellent wife, Fullmetal,” Roy teased, as he headed back to the table.

Ed cursed as the pot of soup thudded down onto the table, hot soup sloshing over the side, cascading onto his automail hand, which was fortunately covered by one of the oven mitts, protecting the mechanisms.

“Or maybe not, if you’re always this clumsy in the kitchen,” Roy amended.

“Shut up and eat, Mustang,” Ed grumbled as he fished the drowned ladle out with one of the soup spoons, and dished up the soup. Then he snatched a chair and tossed the oven mitts onto the table, grabbed a biscuit, cut it in half and slathered both sides with butter, not giving it a chance to finish melting, before he popped the entire thing into his mouth.

“I see your table manners haven’t improved any,” Roy commented, as he sat, and slowly began buttering his own biscuit.

“Fuck you, Mustang,” Ed mumbled almost unintelligibly, with his mouth full. Then he swallowed and added, “It’s not like I’m at a dinner party with the Führer. It’s just you, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

Roy snorted. “It’s only three or so hours into today.”

“I mean the day before that,” Ed explained, and then inhaled half a dozen spoonfuls of soup before Roy could eat one.

Roy frowned. “I give you a meal allowance, Fullmetal.”

“Yeah, well, the dining car ran out of food, because the original train broke down and they had to send out the one I was on before it was restocked, because the supply train was delayed by the storm, and if we waited we would never have left the station,” Ed explained as he grabbed and buttered another biscuit.

“Then I spent hours helping clear the tracks, with alchemy, axes and shovels, and we were still over seven hours late. And you making me talk is keeping me from eating, Mustang,” Ed complained, and then he bit into the biscuit, this time leaving half and actually chewing more than twice before swallowing it.

“I’m sorry. I should have made you that steak,” Roy apologized, surprisingly contrite.

Ed stopped eating and stared at him. Then he shook his head and began eating his soup ravenously.

Roy frowned. “It’s not like I’ve never apologized to you before. Or done something nice for you,” he defended.

Ed snorted, scoffing wordlessly at his claim.

“I let you wear my robe, and I’m freezing,” Roy countered grumpily.

Curious and puzzled golden eyes met his. “You’re acting weird,” Ed accused.

“I’m tired. And hungry. This soup’s good, Fullmetal. My compliments to the chef,” Roy said, holding up his water glass in a toast.

“Would it kill you to call me by my name, since we’re not at work?” Ed grumbled. “Do you really need to use my title when I’m here, when it’s just the two of us?”

As Ed unconsciously quoted the exact words from his dream, Roy felt the blood drain from his face as his mind flooded with images, and the glass he had been lifting to his lips slipped from suddenly numb fingers. It fell onto the soup bowl, shattering both, sending a wave of scalding hot soup cascading off the edge of the table, into his lap, along with a sea of broken ceramic and glass. Roy jumped up out of his chair, cursing, stripping the soaked and burning pajama pants off without thinking, sending both broken glass and ceramic to the floor.

0 0 0

Ed jumped up and ran for the sink, dousing the dish towel in cold water and grabbing the first aid kit, which was still on the counter. Then he ran back and shoved the towel at him. “Put it on the burn. Did you cut yourself?”

“Careful of the glass!” Roy warned, as he grabbed the towel out of his hand, and used it to sponge the soup off his reddened inner thighs.

His perfectly muscled thighs. Ed couldn’t help staring, his gaze raising ever so slightly, straying to… He yanked his gaze away and held up the burn ointment. “Do you want me to…?” he asked, unable to stop himself. _Please?_

Roy stormed off, muttering self-deprecating curses under his breath.

Ed began cleaning up the mess. Roy still hadn’t come back by the time he was done. With a mournful look at his own bowl of soup, he snatched up a pair of biscuits and ate them on the way up the stairs. He headed for the room he knew must be Roy’s. The door was open, so he went in without knocking. The room was empty and cold. Ed frowned at the unlit fireplace, as he scanned the room, curious to see more of Roy’s personal space.

The bedroom was tidy, other than the bed. The bed wasn’t only not made, but the covers were actually in a tangled knot on the floor, as if Roy had stumbled out of bed in a hurry. _Probably slept through his alarm, the lazy bastard._ Although from those shadows under his eyes, it looked like he hadn’t slept for a while.

The room had a masculine feel to it, from the navy blue comforter to the functional looking work desk by the window, to the deep brown wood of the furniture. There were a handful of photographs on the dresser, in simple silver frames. There was one of an elegant looking young woman in a snow white gown with her golden hair tumbling down her back, softly smiling, that had Ed frowning, until he realized in shock that it was Hawkeye. It looked like it might have been taken when she was his age. A second was of Roy, Hawkeye and Hughes, all three of them smiling, in uniform, looking painfully young, happy and innocent. The third was a lot more recent, but still from a while ago, of his current men, with Roy included in the picture, one Hughes had likely taken, from the put upon look on Roy’s face and the way the others were goofing off. He frowned, looking at it. He and Al weren’t in it. The fourth was just as painful to look at as the other one with Hughes. It was one of Hughes, his wife Gracia, and their daughter Elysia. They looked so happy, so loving. So alive.

The fifth was of another woman, but older, surrounded by bevy of beautiful young girls, but Ed recognized it was Roy’s Aunt, Madame Christmas, and Roy’s foster sisters. The sixth was a beautiful smiling woman with long, straight black hair and distinctly Xing features, that looked enough like Roy to be his sister, and she was wearing an Amestrian dress. She was standing beside a man, and the couple were both looking lovingly not at one another, or the camera, but at the tiny black haired baby cradled in her arms. Not Roy’s sister. His mother. Ed knew Roy’s parents had died when he was very young. That he had their picture on his dresser with those of the other people he valued so much spoke volumes.

He was about to turn away when he realized there was a seventh picture frame, hidden behind the one of Roy’s aunt and sisters and his parents. Guiltily, he moved the others aside to peek and froze, as he stared into his own face. It was a picture of him an Al, his favorite one of all the many the team had taken of the two of them, after he’d gotten Al’s body back. The two of them were grinning at each other, his arm around Al’s shoulders, and Al’s arm around his waist. He swallowed, and carefully covered it up again. He felt like he was trespassing now, and was about to leave, because clearly Roy wasn’t here, when he heard a choked whisper of sound from the bathroom

Ed crept to the bathroom, and frowned when he didn’t see Roy immediately. But then there was a shift of movement, from the shower stall. But Roy wasn’t in there to rinse off the soup – or at least, he hadn’t gotten that far. He was still wearing his pajama shirt, curled up in a ball on the tile floor, his head in his hands, pulling on his hair.

“Roy?” Ed asked tentatively, cursing himself in the next moment for revealing his presence and for using his first name, as Roy’s head jerked up, his face flushed in embarrassment. Then he exhaled heavily and sank back into the shower in defeat and humiliation.

“The soup’s getting cold,” Ed said inanely, not knowing what else to say.

“It’ll be safer that way,” Roy said resignedly, with a dark streak of gallows humor.

“Don’t tell me the Flame Alchemist is afraid of a little soup?” Ed joked, regretting it when Roy winced.

“What the hell’s wrong with you Mustang?” he snapped in frustration.

“Nothing a bullet wouldn’t fix,” Roy muttered, his voice laced with hopelessness and exhaustion. Then his eyes widened in panic. “That was a joke,” he claimed, making the threat all the more concrete for having tried to brush it off as one.

“Yeah? Well it wasn’t funny. There’s nothing funny about death,” Ed snapped, his heart hammering at the mental image of Roy, slumped over his desk, with his face in a pool of his own blood, a pistol in his lifeless hand.

“No, there’s not. You died,” Roy whispered.   
  
“What? I’m standing right… you mean your nightmare?” Ed hazarded.

“It seemed so real. Not like the others. They fade away, when I wake up, but this one… You burned to death, and it was my fault,” Roy confessed.

“You’d never burn me,” Ed said with complete conviction.

“My gloves. My fault,” Roy said adamantly.

“You wouldn’t,” Ed claimed, even as he remembered the front porch, the snap of fingers, his relief at seeing Mustang’s bare hand.

Roy shook his head. “You took them. Thought you could light the fire in our bedroom with them. I tried to stop you, but…”

“It was just a stupid nightmare. It wasn’t… Wait. What do you mean, _our_ bedroom?” Ed asked, the word’s significance belatedly registering.

Roy looked down and away, flushing deep red. “Nothing. You’re right, it was just a stupid nightmare,” he echoed evasively.

“Roy, I wouldn’t be dumb enough to mess with your gloves. I’m not that arrogant. I’m not suicidal,” Ed insisted.

“You weren’t being arrogant. Well, maybe a little. You were being…” he trailed off, his haunted eyes flicking to meet his and then rapidly away again.

“What? I was being what?” Ed prodded.

Roy shook his head. “It wasn’t real.”

“How long has it been since you slept?” Ed asked, trying to sound more curious than accusing.

“A while,” Roy admitted vaguely.

“Days?” Ed asked, seeking clarification.

“Three,” Roy admitted to his surprise. “And a half, if you count that night,” he added.

Ed hadn’t expected to hear a number, but he was a little relieved, not that Roy hadn’t been sleeping, but that his tenuous mental state was definitely exacerbated by sleep deprivation.

“You need to wash the soup off your legs, change into dry pajama bottoms, come back downstairs with me, finish your dinner, and then go to bed,” Ed insisted firmly.

“Yeah,” Roy agreed, rising to his feet, instead of sniping at him for ordering him around, while throwing around his title, and their disparity in ranks.

He headed for the sink and wet a washcloth, then wiped down his legs, which were only slightly reddened, not as severely scalded as Ed had feared. Then he headed for his dresser, and rummaged around in it, and pulled out a pair of sweatpants from the very back of the bottom drawer. “I don’t have any more pajamas. I usually sleep nude,” he stated in explanation, and then blushed and shook his head self-deprecatingly.

“So do I,” Ed replied, his lips quirking in a smile, which immediately fled his face, when Roy fell, somehow tripping, his foot apparently catching in the leg of the pants. He’d fallen on the stairs, too, earlier. His coordination was apparently completely shot, because of his exhaustion.

“On second thought, you stay up here. I’m going to bring you dinner in bed, before you break your neck,” Ed stated firmly.

Roy shook his head. “I don’t sleep up here. I sleep on the couch,” he argued, and then his eyes widened as if he’d shocked himself by the admission.

_Is Roy actually too scared to sleep in his own bed?_

“Yeah, well no wonder you haven’t been sleeping. It’s an awesome looking couch, it looks like it would be great for sitting on, but it doesn’t look too comfortable to lie on,” Ed argued. He’d automatically assessed it earlier, in case he ended up needing it.

“I can’t sleep in here,” Roy argued stubbornly.

“Fine. Then you take the guest room, and I’ll sleep in here. Unless you want to share a bed,” Ed joked, immediately regretting it when a look of pure panic flashed across Roy’s face, and he stumbled away from him, shaking his head.

Ed sighed. “That was just a stupid joke. Come on,” Ed said, latching onto Roy’s upper arm with his automail hand, because he wasn’t about to chase the bastard down the stairs, but he didn’t trust himself to touch him with his left hand, to actually feel the warmth of his skin.

He expected  Roy to yank his hand away, and was concerned when he instead meekly allowed himself to be guided to the door to the guest bedroom. But he balked at the door, his eyes riveted to the fireplace and he began struggling, not trying to yank his hand away, but instead wrapping his other arm around his waist. “Don’t go in there!” Roy demanding, sounding completely panicked, his eyes looking wild, irrational.

“Whoa! Calm down, I won’t,” Ed agreed, no longer trying to pull him along. “But you and me, we need to talk, because this isn’t just a nightmare, or sleep deprivation talking, something else happened that you’re not telling me. What’s going on? What happened, that has you like this, completely on edge?”

Roy exhaled heavily, and sat down, right there in the hallway, he just sank down onto the floor. He closed his eyes and then snapped them open again.

Ed would have preferred a bed, or the couch, but he wasn’t about to say anything that might prevent Roy from talking to him, and it looked like he finally might be willing to. Instead, he sank down onto the floor across from him. He’d have preferred to be next to him, but that was too big a temptation, to be that near and not touching, and besides, he needed to see Roy’s face.

“There was a fire,” Roy stated, his voice almost wooden, resigned, but so soft it was almost inaudible.

Ed waited a few moments, for clarification, and then prompted, “What kind of fire? Where?”, when it looked like he might not continue.

“An apartment fire. 267 Chester Street,” Roy replied.

_Shit. An apartment. Families. Kids._ “Did you know someone who lived there?” Ed asked, when Roy went quiet again.

“No. But we were investigating,” Roy replied.

Ed frowned. Why would Roy investigate, and not the fire department or police, if it was suspicious, unless…? “It was deliberate? And they think someone in the military set it?”

“According to witnesses, it started in Lieutenant Brennan’s apartment. His wife and three children died. Sixteen other children died. Forty people total, including three babies, and a pregnant woman, and I had to go there. And see that. Smell it. After what I did in… in the War. The memories. But I had to stay and investigate and look, and pretend it was fine, just another investigation. Only it wasn’t.

“Remember three months ago, when you ripped into me for sending Armstrong to investigate reports of an alchemist creating chimaera, after sending you all the way out to the Drachma border, on an inspection tour?” Roy asked, in an unexpected and annoying non sequitur.

“Of course I remember, you bastard. I’m still angry at you for that. Why the hell would you send Armstrong, when no one knows more about human transmutation alchemy and chimaeras than...” He froze, as an answer other than Mustang being an ass belatedly occurred to him. His mom. Al. Nina, Shou Tucker’s daughter. Mustang had been trying to protect him.

“Exactly. It was _because_ it was you, it was human transmutation, after what you and Al did, what you lived through, what it did to you, but also, after what that sick monster Tucker did to his own daughter. I couldn’t put you into a situation like that, where you might see something like that again, not even to stop it. So I sent you halfway across Amestris from it and I sent Armstrong to investigate. Thankfully, it was a false alarm, someone had wanted the military to investigate that location because they knew they were kidnapping and  keeping under-aged girls there not for alchemical experiments, but to use as prostitutes, and the local police were part of it, they weren’t just taking bribes, they were actually engineering the kidnappings, they were raping those girls too.”

Ed could hear the fury rising in Roy’s voice, thankfully, far better than that hopeless, dead sounding voice from before.

“But it could have been an alchemist. And General Armstrong is amazing, but even he could have been over his head in a one on one fight, with a Flesh Alchemist,” Ed argued.

Roy sighed heavily. “I know. And he knew it too. But we both still thought it was better to protect you, to keep you from opening up those old wounds again, dredging up those memories. Well, unfortunately, it was the same for me. I never should have gone into that building, but I went in anyway, because I’m not only a soldier, I’m a General, and I’m not only supposed to follow orders, but I’m supposed to give them. But how can I order someone to do something like that who’s never seen that kind of carnage before, seen a charnel house? Why give someone who isn’t already scarred like I am those kinds of memories?”

“Yeah, well that worked out really well for you, didn’t it, bastard?” Ed sniped, without any real heat.

“Yeah. So here we sit,” Roy agreed tiredly.

“So did he do it? Lieutenant Brennan? I’d say I can’t imagine someone doing something so horrible to anyone, let alone their own family, to their kids, but a lot of bastards out there like Tucker deserve the Father of the Year award even more than mine,” Ed scoffed bitterly.

“We don’t know. Brennan’s disappeared. We haven’t been able to question him. It was an old building; it could have been an accident, or someone targeting him, or his wife. The fire didn’t leave any evidence we could use. We know the ignition point was in the kitchen, the stove, so it could have been an accident, his wife could have been using it at two in the morning to make tea for herself, or porridge for her toddler, while her husband was out on patrol, there could have been a natural leak, or it could have been sabotage that made it blow up, that ignited the gas pipe, spreading it to the other apartments so quickly. Frankly, it’s a miracle anyone got out alive, that only forty people died, that the entire block didn’t catch fire.” Roy didn’t sound like he thought it was a miracle.

“So tomorrow I’ll help you look for Brennan. In the afternoon. Because we’re both going into work late tomorrow, because we both need some sleep,” Ed stated firmly, punctuating his sentence with a yawn.

Roy immediately looked guilty. “You definitely deserve a lot better than a seat on the floor and cold soup and biscuits for dinner. But if I’m not there promptly at eight tomorrow morning, Hawkeye will likely think I got myself abducted on the way home, but still break down the door to look for me here first, in case I was attacked here.”

Ed yawned again. “No, she knows you made it home safely, and it’s not like she’ll be going into work tomorrow anyw… shit.” Ed’s exhausted brain finally caught up to his tongue as Roy frowned at him.

“When did you speak to Hawkeye, and what do you mean she won’t be going into work tomorrow?” Roy asked.

“It’s nothing. She’s fine. Damn it!” Ed immediately tried to convince him, once again putting his foot into his mouth.

“Ed, What happened to Riza?” Roy demanded, bolting to his feet.

Ed stood too. “It’s nothing bad. Not too bad. I mean, Havoc’s with her, and she’d snuck off to use the phone, so she’s at least ambulatory, and… Damn it!” He sighed in defeat. “Alright, fine. She was in an accident, someone crashed into her car, but she’s being treated, her injuries aren’t life threatening, and the hospital called Havoc because he’s her emergency contact, after you, and they couldn’t reach you, and she called when you were in the shower, because she needed to make sure you got home safely, but I told her not to worry, or actually, Havoc not to, because he took the phone away from her and… Where the hell are you going?” Ed demanded, as Roy ran into his bedroom.

“The hospital. Which one?” he demanded, as Ed ran in after him. He was at his dresser again, yanking out socks and an undershirt.

“She’s fine, Mustang. She’s got a mild concussion, and maybe a broken arm and a few ribs, but that’s it,” Ed argued, as Roy ripped off his pajama top, giving Ed a brief, tantalizing of his hairless chest, before he pulled his undershirt on, covering it.

“If she let Havoc take the phone from her, she’s hurt a lot worse than they realize,” he snapped.

“Damn it, Roy, stop! You can’t go out into that storm. The reason she’s staying at the hospital and let Havoc take the phone and the doctors treat her is because I convinced her you’d made it home safely, and that I was here with you, that I’d protect you, since she can’t. If you go haring off to the hospital at three in the morning in the middle of an ice storm, she’s going to try to guard you while you’re visiting her, and not get the rest she needs, and neither will you, and you’re going to be a raaving lunatic if you go any longer without getting some damn sleep, and I’ll catch pneumonia, because I sure as hell am not letting you go out alone, not when you honestly do have enemies, many of them in the military, including Havoc, who’s going to be at that damned hospital, because apparently he and the Lieutenant Colonel are together, and he’s pissed at you right now, so take off your damned clothes and get into that fucking bed so we can both get some sleep,” Ed demanded, and then mentally cursed, because he started coughing, his throat dry from putting Mustang into his place, which conveniently was his bed, and he was in his bedroom too, and...

Roy had stopped dressing and was staring at him, frowning again. “Damn it. You’re really starting to sound like you’re sick. You’re sure she’s alright? And Havoc is there?”

“Yes and yes. Now for the love of Amestris, get into bed and let me get into mine. We’ll clean up and eat a big breakfast or brunch or lunch or whatever tomorrow. With the entire city coated in ice, it’s not like most of the city won’t be shut down anyway. I’ll call in tonight and have them leave a message for Falman that I’m back and we won’t be in until sometime in the afternoon, in case Havoc doesn’t call them.” He neglected to mention that Havoc was now under the mistaken impression they were lovers, because that was a conversation better had when he wasn’t trapped in the house with Mustang.

Roy exhaled heavily. “Alright. But she’d better be alright,” he threatened.

“I’d never lie to you about something like that, Roy. She’s going to be fine,” Ed assured him.

A ghost of a smile briefly flashed across Roy’s face. “What kind of things would you lie to me about?” He sounded almost playful, teasing.

Ed opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say, when he started coughing again.

Roy immediately frowned. “Never mind. Go to bed and I’ll do the same,” he promised.

Ed looked at him suspiciously.

“That’s not something I’d lie about, to you. Because I know you’d feel obligated to chase after me, for Hawkeye’s sake, and then you’d really get sick, and the entire rest of our unit would want my blood. So goodnight, Ed.”

“Goodnight, Roy,” Ed responded, heading for his room. As soon as he got there, he sank into the bed, burrowing under the covers, grateful for both them and the warm fire. He tried to listen to make sure Roy kept his word, but within moments felt sleep trying to drag him down, and he didn’t fight to resist.


	5. No Rest for the Weary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven’t read my other stories on Archive of Our Own, and like Voltron, Boku No Hero, Karneval/D. Gray-man, or Zettai Karen Children/Unlimited Psychic Squad, please take a look. I also have two Attack on Titan stories and a Soul Eater story posted on Fanfiction.net. Plus you can read my published original high fantasy series, Descent of Kings, a series about valiant and desperate heroes, and epic battles and quests, in a medieval world populated by humans, Elves, Dwarves, Ogres and mythical beasts, battling a god-like insane necromancer and his army of the dead (written before I ever even heard of George R. R. Martin). It includes strong female and male, multi-ethnic, bisexual and gay characters. It is available on Amazon and from the publisher, Dreamspinner.

Roy lay awake in his bed, burrowed under the covers, shivering, but still refusing to light a fire. Just the thought that Ed was in a room with a lit fire made his skin crawl, like thousands of ants were dancing across his body. The thought had him leaping out of bed and checking for insects, and then shaking his head at his pathetic foolishness when he, of course, didn’t find anything wrong with his bed.

“It’s all in your head. You know the effects of sleep deprivation, and congratulations, you’ve finally worked yourself up to hallucinations. So unless you want to see or feel or hear far worse, when you’re awake, when there isn’t a nightmare you can wake up from, go to bed. You saw Ed, he’s alive, he’s safe, he’s here. You can sleep now.”

He crawled back into bed, and pulled the soft comforter up to his neck, for an irrational moment wishing his Aunt Chris or any of her girls, his myriad foster sisters, were there to tuck him in, the way they used to when he was little.

“Go to sleep, Roy Boy,” the woman who had been a mother to him scolded softly. He wasn’t sure if it was memory, or an auditory hallucination, but with the sound of her voice, all the tension and fear finally drained away.

“I should have gone to see you, Aunt Chris, instead of wallowing. Thank you,” he muttered, and finally, blessedly, he let go.

0 0 0

 _“Nina! You’re alive! It’s not you!” Ed would have scooped her up into his arms and hugged her, but he couldn’t risk it, not when her father, Shou Tucker, was still at large. “Don’t cry, it’s alright, Big Brother is here to protect you. You’re safe, I promise.  But… but if you’re not the chimaera, then who…?”_  
  
Nina looked up at him tearfully and pointed to the sad looking monster shivering against the wall of Tucker’s library, against the packed shelves of the floor to ceiling bookcases. He’d come into the library to find Al, to tell him the horrific truth he’d uncovered, that Tucker had used his own wife to perform the successful alchemy years ago of creating a chimaera, in order to become a State Certified Alchemist, so his research would be funded.

_“Daddy bad. Big brother,” Nina said solemnly, pointing at the chimaera._

_Ed’s eyes widened. She knew. Had she seen her father conducting his latest experiment, the one that turned her beloved dog and some poor stranger into that monster? “I know your father is a bad man, sweetie, but Big Brother is here to protect you now. We need to find Al, so he can see you’re safe too.”_

_She shook her head, lower lip trembling now, and pointed again at the chimaera. “Big brother.”_

_Ed frowned, looking from her to the chimaera. And then it opened its mouth and spoke. “Big brother.”_

_Ice shot down Ed’s spine, freezing him, stabbing spikes through his heart, at the words he’d heard Al say thousands of times, at the achingly familiar yet hideously deformed, different voice of the brother he’d given his arm, his life, his soul to save._

_“You can’t be…” Ed whispered in horror, shaking his head in denial, falling to his knees. “No. You can’t be Al. Please, you can’t. I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t reverse it. I can’t help you.”_

_“There is only one thing to do with a travesty of life such as this,” Scar intoned, striding between them, suddenly in the room, his hand upraised. “I release you from your pain,” he intoned, reaching out for the chimaera, for Al._

_“No! Stop! You can’t kill Al! He’s my baby brother!” Ed screamed, reaching out with his automail arm helplessly, unable to stand, move, clap, fight, stop him._

_And then Al was gone, deconstructed, exploded right in front of his eyes into a splatter of flesh, blood and shattered bone. And suddenly he could move again._

_He crawled to the gory puddle, all that was left of his brother._

_Nina  had screamed and was sobbing loudly now, but Ed refused to cry. Crying wouldn’t bring Al back. But he knew what could._

_“I can still fix you, Al, ” Ed promised, and desperately he dipped his finger in Al’s blood and began sketching the same array they’d used to try to bring their mother back, ignoring Nina, who had stopped crying as soon as he started sketching._

_He looked up, belatedly panicked that Scar had taken the helpless little girl, or killed her, but she was still there, crying quietly, though Scar had inexplicably vanished, apparently satisfied with murdering Al, and not trying to kill him this time, though he was one of the State Alchemists he hated._

_“It’s alright, Nina. I’m going to bring Al back,” Ed assured her, as looked back to the floor and continued drawing the intricate array as quickly as he could. He’d only have one chance at this, every second counted, he needed to finish before Al’s soul reached the Gate, while he was still standing safely in front, before he was swallowed by it._

_“Nina help paint, save Big Brother too!” she announced excitedly._

_Ed looked back at her and saw to his horror that she had dipped her hands in Al’s blood, that she was finger-painting with it, and had smeared the intricate symbols of the array._

_“No! You idiot!” He grabbed her tiny wrists in both hand, and began shaking her._

_She screamed, in terror and pain, as her head nodded back and forth wildly, as the bone of her left arm was crushed to dust in his automail hand, and then he heard a sickening snap. Her head lolled limply, her dead eyes wide and confused and lifeless, and Ed realized he’d broken her neck, he’d killed her._

_He let go, horrified, and she fell onto the useless, destroyed array._

_“Murderer! Just like the others!” Scar accused, suddenly appearing in front of him._

_“No! I didn’t mean to! Why didn’t you stop me? Why didn’t you save her? I was just trying to save Al. Nina! Al! Mom!” he begged helplessly._

_“I sentence you to death for your crimes, Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric,” Scar convicted._

_This time, when Scar reached for him, Ed didn’t fight, or try to escape, he was going to let Scar touch him. But instead of deconstructing, exploding, like he expected, Scar grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him, violently._

_“He’s killing me the way I killed Nina,” Ed realized numbly._

_“Ed!” Roy yelled._

_“Roy!” His first thought was relief that Roy was somehow there, and then horror, at the thought of Roy seeing the bloody array, Nina._

_Ed recoiled, he started struggling desperately against Scar. “Don’t let Roy see what I did, please, don’t let him see the array!” Ed begged._

_A wild light of triumph lit Scar’s eyes. “Roy Mustang! The Flame Alchemist! Finally we will have our justice against you!_

_“No! Don’t hurt him! Kill me instead!” Ed begged. He was so stupid! He’d been so wrapped up in what Roy would think of him, he’d forgotten all about the danger Roy would be in. He couldn’t let Scar hurt Roy, and as long as Scar lived, Roy would be his primary target. But he could stop it, here, now, save Roy and atone for everything he’d done._

_“Roy, I’m holding him! Burn him, Roy! Burn us both!” Ed screamed, punching, kicking, fighting to hold onto Scar, as he was the one now fighting to get away. Suddenly the hands were gone._

“Roy!” Ed awoke with a start, bolting upright, panting in panic after fighting for Roy’s life. “Did you get him?” he demanded, seeing Roy’s face, lit by firelight.

”Where is he, where’s Scar?” Ed demanded, scanning the room frantically and frowning in confusion. He wasn’t in Shou Tucker’s library. There was no bloody half drawn array on the floor, no blood or splattered gore, no tiny little girl’s body. He was in a strange bedroom in… Roy’s house. A nightmare. It wasn’t real. Tucker hadn’t turned Al into a chimaera. Scar hadn’t killed Al. Al was safe. Nina was the one who was dead, but not by his hands. Scar had killed her as the chimaera.

Ed cursed himself for not realizing it was just a stupid nightmare sooner. When they knew Nina, Al hadn’t had his body back yet; he’d still been a suit of armor. The firelight was just the fire from the fireplace, still burning brightly, which meant he couldn’t have been asleep too long. He tried switching on the lamp by the bed, but it didn’t turn on.

He’d heard Roy call his name in the dream and Scar had shaken him, because it was Roy calling his name to wake him up, shaking him, and he’d fought him, punched and kicked. Had he actually struck him? He looked over to Roy, who was strangely silent, in concern he’d hurt him and belatedly realized Roy was staring at him in wide-eyed horror, holding his hands palm up and out, as if they were covered in blood, and he was shaking, visible even by the muted firelight.

“I heard you crying out, I ran in, I thought someone was attacking you. But it was a nightmare, you were screaming about an array, I thought you were dreaming about you and Al, your mother, but then you yelled at me to b… to… to b…burn you. How could you ask me to do that?” Roy accused, voice shaking worse than his hands.

“Shit. Damn it! I was sleeping, Mustang. It was just another damned nightmare. If I could control the damned things, realize I was dreaming... Don’t you think I’ve researched everything I can about lucid dreaming? That I want to stop them? Do you think I like watching myself make the same mistakes, night after night, hurting the people I’m trying to help? Killing… killing Al, instead of saving him? Turning the only people I ever loved into monsters?

“Night after night – Al, mom, you, Winry, Nina, and even the others – Hawkeye and Havoc, Fuery and Breda and Falman. It’s your fault I care so damned much about all of them. I never wanted that. It was better when it was just me and Al, when he was the only one, except it was never only him, it was everyone, every person I meet, they all need saving, all the time, and all I need to do is make one single little mistake, not be fast enough or strong enough or good enough, and they die, people always die, no matter how hard I try to save them, they die. Their blood is on my hands.

“You can say it’s supposed to be, because I’m a soldier, even when we’re not at war, there’s always casualties, people hurting one another, that we’re State Alchemists, we’re not gods, but that doesn’t make me any less guilty, make me sleep any better at night,” Ed accused bitterly.

“Don’t just sit there, say something, you bastard. Yell back at me. Tell me I’m just a dumb kid, that I’m an idiot, belittle me, ridicule me, don’t just sit there shaking, looking like that!” Ed demanded, hating seeing Roy looking so broken, especially knowing it was his fault.

0 0 0

Roy licked his dry lips, trying to wet them, but his tongue was just as dry. “It’s supposed to help. Talking about them. The nightmares,” he managed to force out.

Ed’s eyes flared, but not in anger, something different, something he’d seldom seen before on Ed’s face: fear. Ed shook his head. “Nope. Not gonna happen. You want to talk about nightmares, you tell me yours.”

Roy recoiled. But if it would get Ed to speak, if it might help him, even a little, he’d flay his soul raw for him. “You know. You figured it out already, from what I said. You used my gloves and I watched you burn to death. You died and it was my fault. Everyone burns and it’s always my fault. I’ve tried for years to atone for it, but I can never atone for what I did. No matter how many people I protect, or save, none of that is ever going to bring back the ones I killed. But if I can keep just one more person from dying, every life I save, that’s a reason for me to still be here.  And if I can make Führer, I’ll do everything in my power to keep Amestris from ever having another war. Or at least, if Drachma or Xing or one of the other countries attack, if diplomacy fails, to never have a war of extermination, like Ishbal.

“If you don’t want to tell me about your nightmare, tell me about your mission,” Roy urged, not wanting silence, because hearing Ed speak as well as seeing him made it clear he was still alive, that Ed was one person, at least, that he hadn’t managed to kill yet. The Ishbalans were dead, Maes was dead, but Ed and Riza at Aunt Chris and his team, at least, were still alive.

Ed frowned. “You’re still shaking.”

“I’m cold. And sleep deprived. But that’s not your fault,” Roy added quickly, when he saw the guilt in Ed’s expressive, golden eyes. “I probably would have had a nightmare of my own, so waking up to yours likely saved me from that. So that’s a good thing.”

“You need more sleep. We’ll talk about my mission tomorrow. There wasn’t anything important. Go back to your room. I won’t wake you up again,” Ed promised.

 Which meant he likely wasn’t going to sleep, and Ed clearly needed it as much as he did. “I’d rather stay here,” Roy argued truthfully, only belatedly realizing how pathetic he sounded. “I mean, I never lit a fire, so my room’s colder, and I’m cold even in here, I’m sure I’ve already compromised my immune system from not sleeping, so I should stay.”

“How am I supposed to sleep if you’re in here?” Ed complained.

“We could share the bed,” Roy responded instinctively, and then froze, realizing what he’d just said.

Ed gaped. “You want to sleep with me?”

Roy smirked. “What exactly are you offering, Fullmetal?” The automatic jibe was out of his mouth before his currently irrational brain could filter it.

Roy expected Ed to yell at him in disgust, to tell him to get his head out of the gutter, to tell him he was an idiot, or that he was a perverted old man, to tell him to go to one of his girlfriends if he wanted to get laid and stay away from him, or maybe even for Ed to try to punch him in the face. The last thing Roy expected to see was a blush darken Ed’s face, or a look in this eyes of desperation, longing, loss, need.

“Bastard,” Ed accused, but the word sounded defeated, hopeless.

Clearly Ed was feeling as insecure and afraid as he was tonight, as in need of human contact, a voice, warmth. And he’d just taunted him for it.

“I’m sorry, Fullmetal. That was completely inappropriate of me. I only meant we could share the bed for warmth, the way soldiers sometimes do when out in the field in tents in blizzards or other freezing and hazardous conditions. Sometimes, when you’re wounded too, just knowing another person is there, hearing them breath, feeling their warmth, their heartbeat, can make all the difference. And we may not be bleeding out physically, but I think both you and I can definitely be categorized as wounded tonight. I think if I’m here, with you, you might keep the ghosts at bay long enough for me to get some sleep. And maybe I’ll do the same for you, and you’ll sleep too.”

From the look on Ed’s face, Roy was certain he was going to refuse him. The fact that he didn’t even dignify his offer with a response sealed it. Roy felt his own face flush in humiliation. “Never mind. Clearly, you’re stronger than I am, but then, I’ve known that for years. Good night, Fullmetal,” he said stiffly, formally and stood.

“Wait, you bastard,” Ed demanded, snatching his wrist in his automail hand, but then he paled, and drew it back in horror.

“Ed, what’s wrong?” Roy demanded, clasping him by his other arm as he abruptly sat down again, trying to ground him with his touch.

A shudder wracked Ed. “I crushed her wrist. With my hand. She was trying to help, but she wrecked it, and I grabbed her, I pulverized her wrist, and I shook her, I broke her neck, I killed her, and she only wanted to help me bring Al back,” Ed whispered, sounding crushed, devastated.

Roy swallowed. “Bring Al back”, could mean something horrific, in the context he was afraid it might mean.

“You tried to do human alchemy again. Al died and you tried to bring him back, but this time another alchemist was helping you make the array,” Roy hazarded.

Ed shook looked at him, and to Roy’s horror, he saw tears in Ed’s eyes, and they started to spill down his cheeks. “Nina. It was Nina. Her father didn’t turn her into the chimaera with their dog, this time. This time he… he used Al.”

 _Oh, Ed._ “You tried to reverse it, to separate him from the dog, but she messed up the array,” Roy stated with conviction.

“No. It was worse than that. Scar came. He came and saw the chimaera and he… like before, only this time it was Al and… I couldn’t stop him, and there was just blood, everywhere, Al’s blood, and he couldn’t be dead, not after everything, so I used his blood, to draw the array on the floor, but Nina thought she could help, like it was finger paint, she messed it up, and it was too late, Al’s soul was gone, and I grabbed her and killed her, I didn’t mean to, but I shook her, I broke her neck, and Scar came back, he was going to kill me, but then you were there, and he was going to kill you instead, and I grabbed him and told you to burn us both, so you’d be safe, and so I… I couldn’t, not without Al, not after killing Nina, I just couldn’t,” Ed finished, oblivious to the tears streaming down his face, instead of wiping them angrily away, he looked completely shattered, and Roy couldn’t bear seeing him broken like that, after everything he’d done, everything he survived.

He pulled Ed into his arms and hugged him, the way Aunt Chris or Maes would have, if they were here. _Maes! I’d give almost anything to have you back, for Ed, for me._ He was a poor second, but he was all Ed had.

“It was just a nightmare, Ed. You’d never have hurt Nina like that; you could never hurt a child. It’s not in your nature. You’re a protector; you’ve always been a protector. If you have a flaw, it’s that you care too much about everyone else. You’re so busy trying to save them that you forget all about saving yourself. You get hurt, constantly, you treat yourself like you’re expendable, like you don’t matter, but you do, Ed, you matter so much. Your example is what keeps me going, you and the others, all the good in you gives me something concrete to fight to protect, not ideals or nameless, vague faces, but people I can’t afford to fail.

“And you saved Al, remember? You got his body back. You never once thought about restoring your own, it didn’t even matter to you, the arm and leg you lost, you’d have sacrificed your life to save him, if you’d needed to, even knowing how much your death would have hurt him. So don’t you dare ever even think of giving up like that again, not even in your nightmares, because that means somewhere deep down you don’t think you deserve to live, and you do. You deserve to live, and to be happy, fate owes you a karmic boatload of happiness, after all the shit it’s kept shoveling on you until now,” Roy swore, still holding him tightly. To his relief, as he spoke, he’d felt that terrible, brittle tension ease; Ed no longer felt like he was made of glass, like his body could break the way his spirit had.

Ed took a deep breath, and held it, then released it slowly. He did that twice more. “I’m alright now. You can let go of me. I’m sorry you had to see me crying like a little kid. I never even did that back when I _was_ a little kid.”

“What if I’m not alright yet? What if I don’t want to let go?” Roy asked, because it was true. If he let go of Ed now, he felt like he’d shake apart.

“You’re an even bigger mess than I am tonight,” Ed commented, but his voice was unusually gentle, sympathetic.

Roy felt Ed’s hands, which had been gripped into fists as he held him stretch, and he began rubbing them up and down his back in a soothing gesture, the way Roy belatedly realized he was doing to Ed, too.

How many times had Maes held him like this, when he’d broken, in Ishbal? And in the years since, when he’d been drunk, or melancholy, morose, or even just one of those friendly hugs of greeting. How many times had he pushed him away?

He hadn’t hugged another man since Maes died. Or a woman. His sex drive had never been all that strong to begin with. Growing up in a brothel, he saw sex as a tool, a way to manipulate and control, and he’d learned early on that men could use it the same way as women, that he could sleep his way to the top, to achieve his ambitions, to a certain extent, that the Lieutenants’ and Captains’ and Colonels’ and Generals’ secretaries and sisters and sometimes even wives were fonts of information waiting to be tapped. None of them had ever meant anything to him, beyond a means to an end, he’d never felt anything for any of them. He never allowed himself to feel.

Ed felt everything. He had closed himself off from the world too, but not the way Roy had. Roy knew that before Ed had restored Al’s body, he’d considered eating and sleeping a distraction and waste of time, that he’d never have allowed himself to indulge in carnal pleasures of the flesh, when his brother was trapped without touch and taste and smell in his armored suit. 

But afterwards… he’d probably had dozens of women by now. Women had always fawned all over Ed when he was younger, they thought he was adorable, cuddly and cute and grumpy, in need of smothering and mothering, or pretty, and hadn’t cared he was underage, that he was still a child. But Ed didn’t want a mother other than the one he’d lost, and the thought of some woman using Ed for a night or two of fun and then moving on made Roy’s blood boil. Ed deserved better than that. He deserved someone who saw beyond his looks, to the strong yet deceptively fragile person inside. Someone who loved his snarky, insubordinate, witty comebacks, and foul mouth, who wouldn’t try to teach him manners  and domesticate him like some pathetic lapdog, something to show off on their arm.

“Squeeze any harder and you’re going to have my dinner all over your back,” Ed griped.

“Sorry! I didn’t… I wasn’t…” Roy stammered as he abruptly let go and pulled away.

“You alright?” Ed asked, looking into his face in concern.

Roy tried to force the usual shallow, winning smile he’d perfected years ago, but didn’t bother to try to resurrect it when it faltered and died.

“Not really, no. Is it alright if I lie down next to you? Under the covers, I’m afraid, so I don’t freeze. The power is out, and the phones are dead. No, nothing dangerous, it’s not just my house,” he assured Ed when he saw him instantly stiffen. “I checked out the windows and it looks like this part of the city is dark. The wind and ice apparently knocked out the power and phone lines, not a saboteur.”

“Shit. I forgot to call your office and warn them you’d be in late. But you stay here. I’ll get up early tomorrow and head in, and let them know you’ll be late. Or better, yet, I’ll tell them you’re home sick, and you can sleep,” Ed unexpectedly offered.

“There’s no need. You were right before: unless the temperature rises above freezing tomorrow, most people will likely stay home tomorrow anyway. And Hawkeye knows you’re here with me, so she won’t be overly concerned with my safety,” Roy argued.

“Alright, whatever. Then get to bed, bastard, so we can both get some sleep,” Ed ordered.

“Yes, sir, _Major_ ,” Roy teased, not so subtly reminding him of his higher rank.

“If you steal the covers, I’m kicking your ass out onto the floor, _General_ ,” Ed sniped back, without missing a beat.

Roy smirked, as he pulled aside the covers and slid into the bed. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything untoward enough to be kicked out of your bed, Fullmetal.”

0 0 0

Ed did his best not to choke on his own tongue, as his fried brain vainly struggled to come up with a suitable reply. Because there were a number of things Roy could do to him right now, not one of them which would make him want to kick him out of what suddenly seemed to be a very much too small bed. He settled on a weak, “Shut up and go to sleep, bastard,” and pretended to try to do the same.

“Goodnight, Fullm… Ed,” Roy said, his voice suddenly painfully gentle.

“Goodnight, Bas… Mus... Roy,” Ed replied, taking advantage of their mutual exhaustion to use Roy’s name again, as he turned away from him, facing his back to him, when he desperately wanted to wrap his arms around Roy and never let go. He bit back a groan and did his best to will himself to sleep.


End file.
